


i can see the clouds are moving faster now

by katana_fleet



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2018-09-12 02:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9051220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katana_fleet/pseuds/katana_fleet
Summary: “Didn’t see fit to mention me then?” Killian’s voice was curious and slightly hurt.“I couldn’t figure out how to, Killian,” Emma replied, slightly exasperated. “You’re my partner, too. I couldn’t say anything about the wonderful and dashing Agent Jones since you were actually on assignment at the time.”“Mrs. Jones, you could have mentioned that you’d since bound yourself in holy matrimony to a ‘dashing’ man who was on a work trip.”“Probably could have, but I didn’t. I also didn’t want any more loving interrogation than I was already getting,” Emma admitted, finally realizing what sort of mess she was in.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thegladelf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegladelf/gifts).



> title from 'hold on' by tobymac. nothing is mine, everything belongs to a&e and the abc. csss gift for thegladelf. this is possibly my favorite thing that i've ever written, just saying. well, my favorite thing that's longer than 1000 words. merry christmas to all!

Emma woke up to the sound of the phone ringing. Judging by the sound, she had left her phone in the kitchen last night. Killian, lying beside her with his arm tight around her waist, groaned into the pillow.

“Your turn,” Emma muttered. It was probably Ariel, their next-door neighbor with absolutely no concepts of boundaries, probably asking to come over and watch Netflix. There was literally no one else in the world save their boss who liked risking the wrath of the Joneses prior to 10:00 a.m. on a Saturday. And literally no one else in the world save their boss knew that they were, in fact, part of the CIA. The go-assassinate-someone part.

“Nope,” Killian whispered back. She pinched his back. “Fine,” he muttered, standing slowly and kissing her briefly before slumping to the kitchen. Emma grinned after her husband. His hair was gorgeous all scruffy and sleepy, and he really needed to shave before it became an actual beard. Adorable.

She heard him pick up her phone up just as it completed its last ring. “Who is it?” he asked in a half singsong voice. Clearly, his thought was the same as hers. Ariel probably wanted to finish binging _Parks and Rec_.

Emma waited. “May I ask who’s calling?” His voice had sharpened into the tone of CIA Agent Killian Jones. Emma sighed. She kind of loved that voice, but didn’t appreciate it on their first free weekend together in four months. She really hated working for the CIA sometimes.

Killian strode into their bedroom, the phone clasped in his hand in such a way that the caller wouldn’t be able to hear their conversation, no matter how hard they tried. There was the faintest hint of a grin on his mostly grim face. “Emma, it’s your parents.”

Emma stared at Killian’s face for a moment. He looked both terrified and ecstatic. She didn’t like it at all. Then she slowly took the phone. “Hi, Mom,” she said cautiously.

“Emma!” an overly enthusiastic voice practically shouted from the phone. Emma held the phone away from her ear for a moment, letting her ear recover from the assault. “Emma?”

“No need for such enthusiasm, Mom,” Emma said. Slightly awkward pause. Killian waved his hand in a “continue” gesture. “How are you?”

“We’re all doing very well! Missing you, of course, but that’s natural after having hardly heard from you in four years, and almost three before that!” Her voice was still enthusiastic and happy, but there was that edge of iron underneath that Emma had learned to fear at the age of four months, probably. Mary Margaret Blanchard was going for the passive-aggressive. Wonderful.

Emma pasted on a grin that would help with her voice over the phone. Killian crawled back into bed and she curled into his arm around her shoulder. “So sorry, Mom, work is insane. Haven’t been able to keep in contact with anyone, really.” This was in fact the truth. The CIA didn’t appreciate much outside contact and insane was a tame way to describe her job, generally. Right now, it wasn’t. The Joneses had the month off.

A gentle sigh. “You really need to do better about contact, Emma. Some of the neighbors were sure you were dead, since we didn’t have any news for them. Haven’t had any news for them in _months_. Granny looks sad every time she serves a grilled cheese.”

“Sorry?” Killian was rubbing circles into her shoulder. He always knew when Emma needed stress relief, even back on that first mission after they’d gotten over trying to kill each other. Admittedly, that had only lasted for forty-six minutes. Sometimes she really hated him. Or loved him. That line was always so blurry.

“Well, that won’t be an excuse for a while. You’re coming up here for Christmas.”

Emma pulled away from Killian and sat up straight. Killian sat up and leaned against the headboard, and Emma could tell that he was fully on the alert, but she couldn’t focus on him. “ _What_?”

“You heard me, Emma. You’re coming to Storybrooke for Christmas. You will take off at work, and you will stay for one week. Two if possible.”

Emma turned and faced Killian, who must have heard that last part. He was shaking with laughter. She glared at him. “Might be difficult, Mom, work’s crazy right now.” This was an outright lie. Regina had given her and Killian most of the entire month of December off. Killian had almost died from that one assignment in November, and Regina thought it was high time, after Emma’s six years of faithful work and Killian’s seven years of mostly faithful, that both of them should get breaks.

“Well, do something about it.” This was her mom’s _I am a fourth-grade teacher; I will take no nonsense_ voice. “Also, who was that man who answered the phone? He sounded British!” This was her _I want to talk about all the cute boys with you as if I’m your age_ voice.

Emma groaned. Sometimes she also hated her mother. All relationships in Emma’s life were blurred between love and hate. That probably wasn’t a good thing, she mused. “It’s Killian. I work with him. And he’s English, yes.”

“Why was he answering your phone?”

“I made him answer it because I didn’t want to get out of bed.” Killian was actually pressing his hand to his mouth to muffle his laughter. She kicked him in the shin. “Anyway, I’ll try to come for Christmas. What days?”

Mary Margaret blessedly dropped the subject of Killian the Lovely Brit. “I want you here on December 20 or before then, and you aren’t allowed to leave until your boss demands you back. I miss you, Emma.” Her voice had gone into that sweet sad voice that usually left Emma’s father on his knees begging for forgiveness and sometimes had left Emma pleading for her to stop, just be happy again.

“I miss you too, Mom. And Dad, since he’s probably sitting close enough to hear me. And Henry, fine.” Emma couldn’t help grinning when she mentioned Henry. Goodness, the kid was probably so big by now. Like 15 years old or something like that.

She should have defied the CIA and kept in touch better. It may have gotten her and her family killed. But at least it would have prevented this phone call.

There was a sniff from the phone that sounded more like her dad. “Come see us, Emma. Please.” Yep, definitely her dad.

“I’ll do my best,” Emma promised. Then she hung up before her mom could get her to actually promise. She tossed the phone away from her onto the bed and collapsed backwards, which turned out to be onto Killian’s chest. He grunted in pain and Emma moved away, mindful of his healing ribs. He needed to drink more milk or something.

“Are you going to go?” he asked.

“I think I should,” Emma groaned. He slowly pushed his fingers into her hair and started working through the tangles. “I haven’t seen them in four years.”

“Aye, you should go,” Killian replied softly.

Emma tilted her head back and Killian resolutely didn’t meet her gaze. She moved her head to look at his eyes. He slowly moved so that he was staring at the ceiling. She rolled her eyes. “For heaven’s sake, Killian, what is it?”

“Do they not know I exist?”

“Nope,” Emma replied, relishing the feeling of his fingers pulling their way through her hair. “I hadn’t mentioned you before we got married, and we had gotten married like a month before I went to Storybrooke before. You were in—”

“Belarus, I think,” Killian inserted.

“—Belarus, when I went for Mom’s random party that she insisted I needed to be at. Interrogation, of course. I—”

“Didn’t see fit to mention me then?” Killian’s voice was curious and slightly hurt.

“I couldn’t figure out how to, Killian,” Emma replied, slightly exasperated. “You’re also my partner, too. I couldn’t say anything about the wonderful and dashing Agent Jones since you were actually on assignment at the time.”

“Mrs. Jones, you could have mentioned that you’d since bound yourself in holy matrimony to a ‘dashing’ man who was on a work trip.”

“Probably could have, but I didn’t. I also didn’t want any more loving interrogation than I was already getting,” Emma admitted, finally realizing what sort of mess she was in. “You know I was gone for nearly a week before? The extra interrogation would have made it another week at least, and I would have missed you coming home and the joy of getting to take you to the emergency room to set your broken leg. That you had been walking on for _three days_.”

They sat in silence for a moment. That had been a good homecoming. Once Killian’s leg had been fixed and she’d gotten over the anger of his stupid manly endurance, they spent a week in bed or at least near it. Finally, Killian laughed again. “We’ve been married for five years and your parents didn’t know that I existed until about ten minutes ago, let alone that we’re married.”

“Yes.”

The monotone, one-syllable answer made Killian laugh even more. Emma pulled away, wincing when her hair got caught in one of his rings. She turned around to face him. His face was positively glowing with his amusement. Emma grabbed her pillow and whacked him lightly.

“Shut up,” she muttered.

Killian suddenly sobered and gracefully fell off the bed with only a slight wince at the ribs. He straightened and took her hand, pulling her to the edge of the bed so that her legs dangled over the side. He knelt down on one knee before her. “Killian—”

“Will you, Mrs. Jones, consent to something?”

“What?” she asked, rolling her eyes.

He looked down at the ground for a moment and then back up at her face. Emma couldn’t help grinning, because Killian’s face was the _please I beg of you marry me because you make every star in the sky shine at night_ that he’d used when she’d tried to dramatically hesitate before agreeing to marry the idiot. “Will you, Emma Swan Jones, as my truly and lawfully wedded and most beloved wife, take me to Storybrooke, Maine, to meet your family over Christmas?” He ended with a slight pout and a higher notch on the heart eyes scale.

Emma felt her grin fall off her face and shatter somewhere next to Killian’s knee. She had, for the few minutes she’d known about this trip, planned to go to Storybrooke alone. Killian read that in her face and his smile started to drop and she rushed to recover. “What will we tell them? That we’ve been married for five years and decided not to tell them? Mom’s going to kill me, then you, then probably me again.”

“Or we could pull a little fake dating thing in which we pretend to be dating and I get to propose to you again about halfway through, insist on being married before we come back, let your mother give us another wedding when she doesn’t know about the first one. Or even the first _two_.” Killian grinned and kissed her palm before standing and grasping her hips. She could feel the scars and ruined skin on his left hand through her thin shirt, and she couldn’t help taking that hand and kissing it herself before returning it to her hip so that she could put her hands around his waist.

“That’s ridiculous,” Emma scoffed. “My life is not a sit-com. Neither is yours, much as you like to pretend it is.”

“It’s either admit to your five years’ worth of lying and get a terrible scolding and debilitating guilt trip _or_ outright lie and have a bit of fun, darling. No other options,” Killian said happily, tapping his fingers against her hip bones.

Emma sighed.

On the one hand, another wedding was terribly appealing. Killian in a tuxedo was, quite frankly, one of her favorite sights, along with the double chocolate ice cream currently in the freezer and fields just outside of London in the spring. It would be fun to be dating again, and her parents wouldn’t be _quite_ so upset.

On the other hand, the wedding would be expensive, and she didn’t want her dad to have to pay for that. Also, Emma had been married to the one guy for five years, and she and Killian had only dated a year before they knew, without a doubt, that they were the loves of each other’s lives. She was going to have to learn how to date Killian Jones again.

Darn. Emma hated decisions. But unfortunately, at least one thing was clear. Mr. and Mrs. Killian Jones were going to Storybrooke over Christmas. She sighed resignedly.

She rose to her toes and kissed her husband quickly, then pulled herself away to the kitchen. She really wanted that chocolate ice cream.

“What are you going to do?” Killian asked as he struggled to get his shirt on, trying to avoid snapping the ribs again.

“I’m going to make an ice cream waffle sandwich for breakfast, and then I’m going to tell Regina we’re going to Maine.”

\--

“Regina? It’s Emma.”

A baby screamed across the phone. “Hi, Emma, it’s Robin. Let me get Regina.” Robin then probably handed baby Audrey off to her barely older brother Roland, then spoke into the phone again. “Sorry about that. The baby’s hungry and Roland needs to get to daycare—Regina!”

Emma sighed. Killian had gone off to the store to replenish the pantry with the intention of being back in a new record of ten minutes and she was sitting on the couch, waiting to inform her boss that she and her husband were going essentially AWOL for nearly a month. Yes, they were on vacation, but the terms of the vacation essentially said “be ready to be called in at any moment. You’re employees of the United States government against the rest of the known world, and the known world never sleeps, Swan, remember that.”

“Emma?” Regina finally got ahold of the phone.

“Regina, hi.” Emma said. She paused for a moment.

“Talk now, Emma. I have one child to feed, one to take to school, and one husband to drive to work. I don’t have time for anything you and Jones may have managed to screw up.” There was a faint “Mommy?” in the background. “Just a minute, Roland, go ahead and get your backpack. And don’t forget your crayons, please.”

“My mom called. And she wants me to go up to Maine for Christmas. For like two weeks.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Regina’s voice was clearly not amused. “Robin, get the bottle.”

“Because I haven’t told them I got married, and Killian wants to go.”

“Again, why are you telling me this? Go on and get in the car, Roland. Robin, you’re just going to have to get her the bottle going down the road.” A faint “that’s not safe, Gina!” “Right now, we’re just going to have to deal with it. I’ll talk to any police officers we see; they’ll probably have kids and I can threaten them. I was just kidding, Roland, don’t cry. Agent Swan, _what_ is your point?”

Emma tried not to laugh. The Hood-Mills family never ceased to amuse her. “Just wanted to tell you that we can’t do any work for the next three to four weeks. Also, how do I tell my parents?”

“Your problem, Emma,” Regina said exasperatedly. “I’ll put it in that my two best people are leaving for a month. I only hope the Ukraine can manage without you. Good bye now. Enjoy your family time. Roland, please, don’t do that—” She hung up without another word.

Emma couldn’t help laughing. Perfect example of a morning in the Hood-Mills household, really.

She heard a scuffle at the door. Probably Killian with the groceries, but she couldn’t help checking for her gun in her waistband anyway.

The door clicked open. “Help me with the bags, will you, love?” Killian managed around an armful of bags.

“For heaven’s sake, put some of those down before you—” Two cans of tomato soup clattered to the ground. “—drop something.” She stared helplessly down at the dented cans. Too much work to lean down and get them.

Killian staggered in and put everything on the kitchen counter. “Sorry, love,” he said as he reached down for the wayward cans.

“Regina said we could go. We’re leaving the fate of the Ukraine in lesser hands, though.”

Killian grinned. “The Ukraine can survive without us, love. Storybrooke may not be able to.” He hugged her, let Emma bury her face in his neck for a second and breathe. This was stressing her out unrealistically; it was only her parents meeting her _husband_ for the first time, nothing unusual with that. “It’s going to be okay, my love.” He pulled away to start on lunch.

“Let’s do the dating arrangement,” Emma said as she watched Killian work on the pizza. “It’ll probably backfire but—”

“—it won’t be hard,” Killian finished.

“We already have a real how-did-you-meet story and all that,” Emma continued.

“We’re going to tell your family we met when Regina neglected to tell us we had been assigned as partners and you hadn’t read the description of your new partner and you thought I was your mark and you tried to kill me?” Killian asked drily. He tossed some sausage in with the onions.

Emma laughed. “I can see how that would go, and the moment I add ‘he put me in a headlock and tried to dislocate my shoulder to calm me down’ you’re getting thrown out on your pretty face by my father, brother, and Mom’s strange Uncle Leroy, even if I add that it really did work.”

Killian smiled in a sort of pageant pose, holding the spatula aloft and twirling his apron. “So what’s our lovely story?”

“May as well make it dramatic as well as realistic. You’re good at dramatics,” Emma sighed. “Hated each other in the insurance office, got crushes on each other alarmingly quickly, went out—”

“—and the rest is history,” Killian cut in. He leaned across the counter and kissed her soundly for a few seconds. Then the timer for the pizza crust sounded and he pulled away with a grin as Emma tried to follow his lips. “Would you like me to propose halfway through?”

“You’re the one proposing, Killian. Once again, we shall keep it sickeningly traditional for the sake of the old souls of Storybrooke who possibly haven’t heard of feminism. You act as you will.” Emma stood to spread the sauce on the crust. The sauce and the cheese were the only parts of cooking Killian let her perform. For goodness’ sake, one burned loaf of bread while they were dating that nearly burned the apartment down and Killian never let her cook again. Her husband’s lack of faith in her culinary skills was astonishing. Which was perfectly fine; Emma had no trouble with that. The man could cook.

The pizza was done five minutes later and they sat down at the table with the whole thing. “Put your mother on speaker when you tell her we’re coming, love,” Killian said with a grin. “I’m really rather looking forward to this.”

\--

Emma called her parents that night, sitting on the couch with Killian’s head on her lap, her fingers carding through his hair. “Hey, Mom,” she said with forced cheerfulness. She put the phone, which was on speaker as requested, on her stomach. Killian stared down at it with rapt attention.

“Hi, Emma! How has your day been?”

“Fine, Regina gave me and Killian the day off so we’ve been doing nothing. Speaking of him, we can come for Christmas.”

Killian grinned at Mary Margaret’s happy squeal. “David! Emma’s coming for Christmas!”

“I know, dear, I heard,” Emma’s dad replied. “Emma, did you say ‘we’?”

“Yeah, I’m bringing Killian. My boyfriend.” Killian sighed and Emma pressed her hand over his mouth.

“The English one?” Mary Margaret asked. Killian raised an eyebrow questioningly. Emma nodded her agreement; Killian was about to purposefully talk to her parents. Milestone.

“Aye, that’s me,” Killian said in the general direction of the phone. Emma knew from experience that his accent sounded even thicker over the phone. Her mom was probably quite impressed.

“Well, we’ll be pleased to have you over as well, Killian,” Mary Margaret said. She ended “Killian” with a question mark. Emma wasn’t sure if it was the pronunciation or the complete shock that Emma was bringing a boyfriend home at all. Probably the latter; her mom had dealt with plenty of unusual names throughout the course of her years as a teacher.

“He’ll be coming, Mom,” Emma said. “Anyway, looking forward to seeing you all, love you, bye!” She grabbed the phone and hung up quickly. Then she let her head fall to the back of the couch and her hand with the phone fall haphazardly onto Killian’s face.

Killian took the phone out of her hand and pushed it behind a couch cushion. “Don’t worry, love. We can handle it.”

\--

The next week saw Mr. and Mrs. Jones packing and getting Ariel to watch the apartment—they had done this before: essentially telling her to live there for a few weeks, pretend it was hers, but please take care of it—and arranging everything. Emma reminded Regina and Robin that they were really truly leaving for a few weeks. Killian convinced Will to try to stay off the alcohol to be ready if the Ukraine really needed help. Emma couldn’t help believing that if something wrong happened over there, the Ukraine was screwed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But that acting didn’t matter, not as much; no one knew who they were. No one would remember the blonde in the red dress and the brunet with her who gazed into her eyes throughout their time at the coffee shop. However, most everyone in Storybrooke knew Emma. Even after nearly six years, they’d remember her expressions and moods and et cetera. Storybrooke didn’t get many new people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title same, disclaimer same. this is the fastest i've ever completed a second chapter. still a csss gift for thegladelf. enjoy, you cs fluff junkies.

They were standing just outside the Boston airport. David had promised to pick them up, to save the rental car fees. They were standing hand-in-hand, waiting, when Killian started. “Emma, the rings.” Emma pulled her hand from his and slowly pulled the rings off. She took Killian’s left hand and helped him get his wedding band off, then zipped all three into her purse.

“We’re professional spies,” Emma muttered. “How did we forget them?”

“I suppose we’re slipping, love,” he said.

“Look at the tan lines,” she couldn’t help pointing out, showing him her hand. Killian looked at his own hand and shrugged. With his hand and the lines of burns and melted flesh, she really couldn’t see the lines. Which was probably a good thing.

“I do hope your parents aren't particularly observant in such areas, Swan.” Emma copied his shrug. He leaned down and kissed her, pulling away slowly. “It's going to be okay, my love.”

“I know.” Just then, she saw her dad's truck. “Alright, Mr. Jones. Showtime.”

“Aye, aye, Mrs. Jones.” They took a breath in unison. Then they made their way to the truck.

David was leaning against the driver's door and Emma couldn’t help grinning and releasing Killian’s hand to run into her dad's arms.

“Emma,” her dad breathed, hugging her close and cradling her head in his hand. She felt the moment he noticed Killian because he suddenly tensed. Emma pulled away and glanced quickly at both of their faces. David looked suitably suspicious and just a little murderous, and Killian looked just the right combination of scared and confident.

“Dad, this is Killian Jones. Killian, this is my dad, David Nolan.” They slowly shook hands, David’s grip just a little too much for the slight bruising Killian had across the top after he somehow closed his hand in a car door on their last mission. Idiot.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Nolan.” Emma suddenly had to bless her five-years-ago self for explaining the name differences in the family—nothing like foster care for making things complicated.

“And you,” David said briefly. Emma rolled her eyes.

“You guys can try to kill each other later, when we’re not in an airport parking lot. Get in the truck,” she said, pushing her dad to the driver’s seat. Once David was safely in the truck, she turned to Killian. “Be good,” she whispered before pushing past him to sit between them.

“I’m always good,” he murmured before following her.

The ride to Storybrooke, Maine, was awkward, to say the least. David was never the one who interrogated anyone Emma brought home; Mary Margaret had questioned every guy or girl to cross the Nolan-Blanchard front door, whether it was to pick up Emma for a date or just to study. David had always just glared. Killian tried twice in the car to start a conversation with his father-in-law, but David shut him down with a single sentence.

That left Emma to burn with embarrassment, sitting between her husband and her father. Why hadn’t she taken Killian to meet her family before they got engaged? There was a whole year when they knew each other before they were married; she had had time to introduce everyone. Of course, she had been terrified of what was happening between her and Killian—she had trouble enough telling Regina, who already knew both of them probably better than they knew themselves, that they were getting married.

They arrived in Storybrooke, in front of her parents’ loft, in record time. Killian and her dad both jumped out of the truck to untie the luggage and fight silently over carrying it in. Emma knew that if her dad didn’t get the suitcases, Killian would get them as he always did, so she ran up to the front of the apartment complex where her mom was waiting, open-armed and slightly teary.

“Mom,” she whispered as she threw herself into her mom’s arms.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret whispered back, cradling her daughter’s head much like David had.

She loved her family so much; she’d forgotten. Emma was really wondering why she had stayed away so long. Cursed CIA.

Henry ran down the stairs and attempted to toss himself into Emma’s arms. There was a considerable age gap, nearly fifteen years, but Henry was still taller than her. So she settled for hugging him tightly, as tightly as she could. She could’ve sworn that Henry buried his face in her hair and sniffed a few times. “Goodness, kid, are you crying that I’m back?”

“No,” he muttered, pulling away. Emma couldn’t resist patting him on the head. He’d grown so much; she couldn’t use his head as an elbow rest anymore. She mourned that loss for a second.

David and Killian chose that moment to appear, Killian with a peeved expression of _he wouldn’t let me carry your things, love, I’m sorry, I tried_ and David with an annoyed expression of _I’m not that old, I will carry my daughter’s bags_. Emma grinned. Then the grin flew away on little wings, because it was introductions time.

Emma glanced at the bags in Killian’s hand and he lightly set them down. “Mom, this is Killian Jones,” she said. “Killian, this is Mary Margaret Blanchard, my mom, and Henry James Leopold Nolan-Blanchard.” Henry started to interrupt but she cut him off. “Call him Henry unless you want to die a painful death,” she muttered. Killian knew very well what her brother wanted to be called due to all the stories that Emma couldn’t help sharing, but Henry liked to tell guests in vivid detail of the terrible death that would occur if they so much as breathed another syllable beyond “Henry.” 

Killian bowed slightly and took Mary Margaret’s outstretched hand, shook it and kissed the top. Emma rolled her eyes and Mary Margaret looked slightly shocked. Emma couldn’t help thinking that chivalry wasn’t dead, not while her husband, the last image of the truly knightly aside from her father, lived. It was always such a relief to remember that. “My pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Blanchard. And rest assured, Henry—” he released her mom’s hand and turned to the kid “—I know full well the trials of a somewhat difficult name,” he said, winking. Henry also looked shocked, but in the I-have-just-met-my-hero way.

“Come on, Killian, let’s get our stuff up,” Emma inserted just before Mary Margaret could start the interrogation. It was going to happen, Emma knew that, but she preferred it not happen out in the open. Killian grabbed her suitcase and his and followed her up the stairs. Emma silently pointed out the squeaky step and he avoided that part like he’d been coming to this house for years.

She opened the thankfully unlocked door and stepped into her parents’ house. Emma stood next to Killian as he took it in. He slowly grinned. “You know, love, we’ve had our apartment for five years but it doesn’t have _something_ that this has,” he said musingly after making sure that his in-laws weren’t standing right behind him.

“I know. I think it’s mostly that this one’s older and Mom likes small mementos and has time to collect them and arrange them in pretty places,” Emma said, leading him to the stairs up to her room. “I imagine we’ll just both be in here, unless you want to keep up a saintly charade and stay with Henry for three weeks.” Killian gave her an appalled expression that showed exactly what he thought of that. She smiled angelically and opened the door for him.

Emma realized, looking at her room, that she had really kind of missed it. Except for the strange posters of long-forsaken bands and movies on the walls, to which Killian of course bounded immediately and examined thoroughly. Emma noticed that he was holding his hand perfectly still as he studied the posters and the rest of her room, so she snuck up behind him, gently grabbed his hand, and started massaging it, like the PT had showed them when they got back from that terrible mission. He sighed in relief and moved slowly around the room to look at it so that she could follow him easily. Eventually, Killian just collapsed on the bed and Emma fell down next to him.

“Always a pleasure to see into your childhood, Swan. Thank you,” he said, glancing over at her like he was expecting her to be making this a more momentous occasion. But really it wasn’t, somehow. It was right to see the guy she loved hanging out in her room, like they were in high school, sneaking around the parents a little. Such a joy, honestly.

“Emma!” her mom called from below. “Would you like some dinner? I thought we’d go to Granny’s.”

Emma sighed and stood, Killian mirroring her on the other side. He took her hand in his. “Ready for the show, my love?” he asked quietly.

“Let’s do this,” Emma said resolutely.

Yeah, they’d acted before. It’s part of what being secret agents is. They’d pretended to be married when they weren’t, on their first date after they’d gotten married, and everything in between. But that acting didn’t matter, not as much; no one knew who they were. No one would remember the blonde in the red dress and the brunet with her who gazed into her eyes throughout their time at the coffee shop. However, most everyone in Storybrooke knew Emma. Even after nearly six years, they’d remember her expressions and moods and et cetera. Storybrooke didn’t get many new people.

They walked down the stairs, hand in hand. David glared at their entwined hands and Emma let Killian’s go, as awkwardly as she could. Mary Margaret grinned, almost as awkwardly, and Henry just threw himself at Killian. “Where are you from? Do you like football? How about soccer?”

Killian smiled at the lad as they all walked down the stairs, Emma walking safely between David and Mary Margaret. “I’m from London, and I do like American football and your strangely named soccer. I played football—the proper football—in school for a while.”

“What position did you play?” Henry asked eagerly.

“That’s enough, Henry,” Mary Margaret inserted. “Let the man enjoy the surroundings.” Killian mouthed “sorry” at Henry and he shrugged, kicking the ground with his pristine new Converse. Emma grinned at her brother.

Emma saw Killian staring at their surroundings as per Mary Margaret’s veiled command, and she couldn’t help following suit. She sighed quietly and Killian brushed her hand after glancing at her face.

Clearly not quietly enough for David’s incredible hearing to miss. “You okay, Emma?” he asked concernedly.

“I’m good,” Emma said. “Just missed this place.” It was so true. She was looking all around Storybrooke, drinking it in as much as Killian was. She had missed Mr. Gold’s evil-looking pawnshop on the corner, the clock tower that liked to stay stuck at 8:15 every so often when the weather was right, and, probably most of all, Granny’s.

They walked into the restaurant to the jingle of the little bells. She inhaled the scent of Granny’s lasagna and suddenly craved a grilled cheese and onion rings.

“Emma!” Granny called from behind the counter.

“ _Emma_!” Ruby called from another table.

The rest of the people in the restaurant turned and nodded at Mary Margaret and David, a few grinning or waving at Emma. They took their usual table in the corner, Killian pulling a chair over for Henry to sit at the end without being asked. Emma caught David giving her husband a quick glance of approval.

“Hey everyone, _Emma_ , how are you guys? Emma, how was New York or wherever? And who’s this?” Ruby was not subtle, by any stretch of the imagination.

“We’re doing well, Ruby,” Mary Margaret said with a friendly grin.

“I want lasagna,” Henry said. Ruby wrote it on her page, probably something like “Henry.” Everyone would know what that meant.

“Just home for Christmas, Rubes,” Emma said. “And this is Killian, my—”

“I’m Emma’s boyfriend, came home with her for Christmas and to meet her family,” Killian inserted with a sweet smile. Ruby raised an eyebrow. Emma watched as her thought process went from _yay, Emma’s home_ to _hot man_ to _darn, why can’t he be mine?_ Emma couldn’t help grinning; this man was entirely hers. She had her marriage certificate in her suitcase if anyone was curious.

Ruby smiled at Emma, apparently over her brief bit of jealousy. “You and me, Emma, we’re going to talk later, chat about the old days!”

Emma nodded. She adored Ruby, truly, always had since they were best friends in 4K, but hanging out with Ruby left her husband in the dubitable care of her parents and brother. She inwardly shrugged as they all ordered. Killian could handle himself, and it would probably turn out better than if they stayed together all the time.

“So, where are you from, Killian?” Mary Margaret asked as another waitress placed their food in front of them with another lusty gaze at Killian, this one a gaze Emma didn’t like. The interrogation had begun.

“Just outside of London,” Killian said, tucking into his lasagna. Henry had convinced him to convert to the side of Granny’s lasagna quickly. Judging by Killian’s slightly upset expression, it was better than his own. Emma, of course, knew this; she’d grown up on Granny’s lasagna, and the first time she’d had Killian’s she’d been just a bit more than disappointed. She’d told him as much, and he’d vowed that when they eventually came back to Storybrooke, he’d try the lasagna and prove her wrong.

“When did you move over here?” Mary Margaret persisted.

Killian paused, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and glanced at Emma, who patted his bicep to encourage him to go on. Nice bicep, really; very nice. Gotta love a man with good arms and a tragic backstory. “I immigrated when I was thirteen,” he said, slightly haltingly.

Thankfully, the tone was enough to discourage Mary Margaret from any other questions about his origins for the time. She quickly switched gears. “Where did you two meet?” she asked happily, looking back and forth between the two of them. Emma noticed that Ruby had abandoned two of her tables, one of which was an angry and probably still hungover Dr. Whale, to drift closer and listen.

“In the insurance office,” Killian started. “She worked in the cubicle right behind me, and I could watch her work sometimes, whenever Regina gave me less to do.” David glared.

“I promise it was innocent,” Emma inserted. David’s glare softened.

“Eventually Regina made us work together on a project. We didn’t really get along for several months, but Regina thought we worked well together. So eventually—”

“—after a really big argument—” Emma chimed in.

“—the project was done and presented and we both got excellent raises—”

“—he asked me out, and the rest, as they say—”

“—is history,” Killian finished.

He finished his lasagna as Mary Margaret and Ruby fairly beamed between the two of them. Emma grinned. Yeah, they were adorable. “Ruby, do give my compliments to your grandmother,” he said with slight reluctance. Granny of the ears like a wolf’s shouted,

“Thank you! Glad to hear someone new appreciates it!”

They were all walking home an hour later, the lasagna and grilled cheese consumed with typical gusto. Emma tucked her hand into Killian’s gallantly bent elbow and she was talking with Henry about something that she couldn’t quite remember. The conversation had started out with him pointing out a new store along Main Street, then went into school, then narrowed to math class, and finally he arrived at the girl he was apparently besotted with.

“Her name’s Violet, and she’s good at math, which is good because I can help her with writing and she can help with math, and she likes to play with the guys on the playground, which is cool, and she has a horse—”

Killian cut him off with a laugh. “Sounds like quite the lass,” he said. “Have you told the lady of your affections?”

Henry blushed and scraped his shoe along the sidewalk for a moment. Mary Margaret had stopped them all to show David a lamp in a shop window. Apparently Henry’s most recent baseball throw through the house had found its mark, Emma gathered from her murmuring parents’ conversation. If it was the dreadful lamp she remembered, she’d have to thank Henry for the destruction later. “No,” Henry muttered. “Don’t know how,” he sighed.

“Ah, it’s not too difficult,” Killian teased. “Just walk up to her after weeks of pining and stumble over your words while asking her out to dinner.”

Mary Margaret heard his words and laughed, one or two stars in her eyes as she imagined Killian asking her daughter out for the first time. Emma pinched his arm. “You can do it, Henry, and you’ll be smoother than the British guy while you ask her, I’m sure.”

“Which is quite the feat,” Killian inserted.

David chuckled. “Do you want the lamp now, dear? Or shall we take the young ones home and let them curl into the couch and watch some movie that’s way too young for me?”

Henry cheered, probably glad to be off the topic of his lady love. Emma grinned, leaning into her husband’s arm, which had slowly moved to rest around her waist as David spoke. David darted a light glare at said arm, but he said nothing, for which Emma was grateful and Killian couldn’t help but grin.

“Your father approves of me, love,” he whispered.

“Good,” Emma replied. “He’s still probably going to give you some manly talk about not hurting me later though, so be prepared.”

“Be pre _pared_!” he sang into her ear, _Lion King_ style. Emma groaned, a smile breaking over her face despite her husband’s idiocy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Good morning!” came the happy voice of Mary Margaret Blanchard from outside Emma’s room. Emma jumped and blinked for a few seconds before recognizing the cat poster on the wall. Killian sat up immediately, reaching for the gun he’d stowed under the mattress, until he realized where they were—not on a mission, and that was not the voice of a kindly landlady about to attempt double murder of newlywed house guests—and fell back to Emma’s side. She laughed hollowly as Killian’s eyes darted around the room before landing on her and relaxing.
> 
> They smiled at each other for a moment. “Good morning,” she echoed her mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title same, disclaimer same. still for margaret. after having madly fought schoolwork over the past two days and since easter break starts tomorrow, i have completed this next chapter. i have no idea how long the next chapter will take, so please be patient and enjoy!

Mary Margaret decided to skip on the lamp for the time being and they all walked back to the Nolan house. Henry immediately migrated back to his room to do boring teenage things and Emma and Killian sat down on the couch.

Emma tucked herself into Killian’s arm like always. He chuckled into her hair and rested his left hand on her thigh so she could easily massage at his no-doubt aching muscles. She rested her head on his shoulder when she took his hand, not able to hold back the familiar chills of remembering that terrible day. Killian smiled and closed his eyes in relief.

Mary Margaret and David sat down on the couch opposite them with matching happy sighs. David noticed Emma’s motions and Killian’s hand and couldn’t hold back a wince. “What happened to your hand, Killian?” Mary Margaret gasped before Emma could stop her with warning eyes or David could hold her back with a comforting hand on her knee. Emma inwardly sighed. They hadn’t worked out this story.

Killian’s eyes snapped back open and he looked not unlike a cornered puppy for a moment. Sad and slightly scared, not dangerous, thankfully—Killian, not Agent Jones. Emma felt him tense then relax when he thought of something. “Boating accident just before I went to work for the insurance place Emma and I met,” he answered. Emma patted his wrist. That was a good one. Very nearly true, too—they had been on a harbor when the fire started. Just left a few details out, like how they’d already been married five years and this accident had only happened two months ago, and it was basically a medical miracle that he could use the hand as much as he could. The doctors had really wanted to amputate, but Killian had refused through his pain meds-induced haze and Emma had fought for him.

“I’m sorry,” Mary Margaret replied, with a time-and-repetition-patented yet completely genuine sad face. Emma sensed David’s judgement softening again. But it wasn’t enough to stop the next questions.

In a rapid-fire sequence, David asked Killian basically every question from “Where did you come from”—London, as he’d already told Henry—to “Why did you start working at the insurance company”—needed some cash in this land of plenty and insurance was basically the only option with his qualifications—to “Where does your family live”—brother died four years back, mom died when he was two, and father disappeared to the ends of the earth right before he was born—to the all-important “How long have you two been dating, and what are your intentions regarding my only daughter?”

Emma took that as her cue to stand up and go visit Henry. She kissed Killian, whose face had sharpened from _my father-in-law is going to murder me in my sleep_ into a smirking _I’m going to tell my wife’s father_ exactly _what my intentions are_ , on the cheek, and motioned for her mother to join her. Mary Margaret thankfully understood that this was a father-potential-son-in-law conversation, despite her desperate longing to hear whatever Killian said.

They both went up the stairs before the conversation could really start, and Emma poked her head into Henry’s room. The kid was sitting on his bed, watching something on his TV—how long had he had a TV?—and he grinned when he saw her.

“Can we come in?” Emma asked cautiously, absolutely no idea if Netflix time for teenagers was a thing much-older sisters and moms could interrupt.

“Yep!” Henry said, nodding vigorously. He was probably the exception to every rule.

Emma sat down on the bed next to Henry, and Mary Margaret sat down on the other side. “What are you watching?” Emma asked. She hadn’t really had time to watch much Netflix lately, aside from _Parks and Rec_.

 “It’s _The Flash_ ,” Henry explained excitedly. “That’s Barry, he’s the Flash, he got his superpowers when he was struck by lightning, and that’s Iris, she’s awesome…”

Emma zoned out for a few minutes while her brother continued to explain the show and her mom nodded attentively, pretending to understand what was going on in the show. She couldn’t help wondering what was being said downstairs, whether her dad liked Killian enough to not throw him out on his handsome face, whether Killian was going the whole route and asking for her father’s blessing to marry her, whether they were just sitting there awkwardly after only pretending to intimidate and be intimidated. It was a mystery.

“And that’s Joe, he’s Iris’s dad, he’s a police officer, and he knows that Barry’s the Flash, and he’s also awesome!” Henry wrapped up his summary of the show with far-younger-than-his-age enthusiasm, and both Emma and Mary Margaret smiled and nodded, like it had all made perfect sense. Not much had made sense, aside from pretty much everyone being rather awesome. “Why are you two up here, anyway?” he asked suddenly. “Weren’t you all double-dating or whatever?”

Mary Margaret grinned. “Your father wanted to have a talk with Emma’s suitor about his intentions,” she said conspiratorially. Henry laughed and Emma sighed.

“What if they end up fighting to the death over Emma?” Henry asked, still laughing. “They should use lightsabers. That way they’ll get their wounds cauterized immediately, and Mom won’t have to deal with blood on the carpet.”

Emma groaned, head falling into her hand. That was honestly what she was imagining, and her father was not doing well in her mental image. Killian had taken swordsmanship as a geeky teenager at his brother’s advice. “I’ll have to kill whoever comes out on top, then,” she said, matching Henry’s grin.

Mary Margaret checked her watch. “They’ve had long enough to discuss like the manly men they are, and it is time for bedtime, young man,” she said to Henry. He sighed but hugged Emma, kissed his mom on the cheek, and bounced off to the bathroom to prepare for bed.

“Why is he the perfect kid?” Emma asked her mom.

“I have no idea,” Mary Margaret replied, staring after her son. “Goodness knows you weren’t that obedient.” She wrapped her arm around her daughter as they stood up to check on their husbands.

“Which is why I wonder how he got to be so good,” Emma muttered.

\--

Twenty minutes later, Killian was brushing his teeth and Emma was curled under her blankets.

“What did you and Dad talk about?” she asked, trying to keep her eyes open.

“My iblurghfs, cocenerigneg ooo—” He choked and quickly spit. Emma giggled and waited for him to finish in the bathroom. “My intentions, concerning your lovely self,” Killian said as he stepped back into Emma’s bedroom. He pulled back the covers, letting just a little cold air inside. Emma shivered, and he got under the blankets quickly.

“Mom and I were starting to worry that you two were going to duel to the death, as Henry said. He was hoping for lightsabers. I probably would have preferred those huge sabers—katanas.”

Killian laughed, lightly pulling Emma into his chest. “Your father considered it, I believe, but he thankfully decided against it. The resulting fight would probably have messed up the delicate living room arrangement your mother fixed up so nicely.” He nestled his face against the back of her neck. “I would have been Luke, I suppose,” he whispered into her hair. “Or maybe Han. Dashing space pirate, he is. And your father is Vader, and you’re the lovely Leia.” He nuzzled into her hair once more.

Emma smiled at the Star Wars commentary—Killian was definitely Han, down to the low-cut shirt and chest hair—and sighed. Their little game was going well so far, and her family couldn’t see the slight deception at all.

“What’s wrong, love?” Killian asked, trailing his fingers along her side, making her shiver slightly.

Emma tangled her feet with Killian’s. His were always akin to an oven, and hers were more like a freezer. Comfortable combination, it was, once they both got past the initial shock. “I hadn’t realized how much I missed them until we came home. I should have been there for them and for Henry.” she whispered.

Killian kissed her jawline. “I’m sorry, love.”

“I don’t like pretending to them.” She nestled further into Killian’s chest.

Killian was silent for a moment, and Emma started to think he had fallen asleep before noticing that his breathing pattern hadn’t changed enough for sleep. “Your father asked if I intended to marry you, since we’ve been ‘dating’ for so long. I put us at three years, by the way.”

“What did you say?” she asked.

“I told him I did.”

“Good answer, you married man. What did _he_ say?”

“He nodded, seemed pleased with that answer. Then we discussed football.”

Emma rolled over and glared at her husband. “You and my father discussed football while my mother and brother and I were nearly sure one of you was going to be murdered?”

Killian laughed and kissed her quickly. “Meant that the discussion for your hand was over, love. He basically gave me permission to ask you to marry me, if you must know. I’ll ask again if we go through with this second-marriage thing. But I believe he thinks I’m a fantastic catch.”

“Really,” Emma said, vaguely surprised. She would have expected her father to make Killian wait for such a momentous answer, take a few days to decide or something. He’d known Killian for exactly one day and apparently the bromance had quickly grown strong without her realizing. She should have expected it, of course, but still.

“Go to sleep, love,” Killian muttered, his voice dropping off into slumber.

Emma stared at his face for a few moments, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “I love you,” before falling asleep.

\--

“Good morning!” came the happy voice of Mary Margaret Blanchard from outside Emma’s room. Emma jumped and blinked for a few seconds before recognizing the cat poster on the wall. Killian sat up immediately, reaching for the gun he’d stowed under the mattress, until he realized where they were— _not_ on a mission, and that was _not_ the voice of a kindly landlady about to attempt double murder of newlywed house guests—and fell back to Emma’s side. She laughed hollowly as Killian’s eyes darted around the room before landing on her and relaxing.

They smiled at each other for a moment. “Good morning,” she echoed her mother. Killian leaned over to kiss her deeply for a second, then jumped out of bed. “Where are you going?” Emma asked, leaning back in the bed. If he was going where she expected, she wasn’t going to have to move from this bed for another half-hour at least.

“I’m going to assist your mother with the morning meal,” he said, flattening his hair slightly. Emma grinned. That was exactly her prediction. All hail six years of knowledge about each other. “May as well gain some points with my mother-in-law.”

Emma heard a squeak from outside the door, then footsteps quickly descending the stairs, and she groaned.

Killian looked from the door to Emma and back again. “Was your mother right outside the door?”

Emma nodded slowly, her mind racing. “What do you want to do about it?” At this point they had two options. Make something up or admit to the entire thing. It all depended on what her mom had heard.

Killian leaned over for another quick kiss. “If she heard that, I’ll tell her I said ‘future’ or something like that.”

“She still won’t believe that. They all think I’m too anti-commitment to consider marriage.”

Killian chuckled, preening a bit. “That’s what they think.”

Emma sighed. “Yeah, they do. They really do. Ruby and Belle had an intervention for me one time when I hadn’t gone on any sort of real date in a year due to the one night stands.” Killian smirked, no doubt imagining the Emma she was when they met the third time. She’d been in a skin-tight red dress splattered with red wine, just off of a shorter job that required catching a cheating drug lord. Even then she’d been able to read his eyes, and they said _most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen_. Even now he was smiling that you’re-my-favorite-person-place-and-thing smile that made her heart skip beats.

Killian leaned down and kissed her hand carefully, his lips moving over her knuckles slowly. “I’m going to help your mother with breakfast, all right, love?”

Emma nodded and tried to push him towards the door. From her position on the bed, it was more like a light struggle-filled tap on the chest. “I want bacon,” she said.

Killian laughed. “As you wish.” He left the door slightly ajar and she wanted to murder him. Believe it or not, that was the man’s most annoying flaw. The day he finally learned to close the door completely, she’d probably—she didn’t know what she’d do, but it would be a truly _great_ day for both of them. She sighed and closed her eyes.

Emma woke up again to the smell of bacon permeating the house. “Emma, Henry!” Mary Margaret called. “Breakfast!” Emma heard Henry’s I-am-awake-and-not-pleased-about-anything-life-can-offer-me-today groan that turned into a cheer when he smelled the bacon. They raced each other down the stairs, Emma pretending excellently that she wasn’t approaching thirty years old. She won the race, just barely. The boy was getting to be bigger than her. Their parents watched with no small amount of amusement and slight confusion.

Killian stood unruffled at the countertop with spatula in hand. “Your breakfast is served, milady and good sir,” he said with pleasant alacrity. “Do help yourself.”

Emma kissed Killian as Henry tore through the pancakes and bacon, leaving barely enough for the other four. Killian smirked when Emma pulled away, and she sighed, knowing that her dad had been trying not to stare at them in slight annoyance at the dreaded PDA.

“Did Mom mention the slip of the tongue?” she asked in a whisper.

Killian shook his head and gave her a thumbs up. Emma breathed a sigh of relief and got her plate of breakfast goodness.

They sat down at the kitchen table with their food and Mary Margaret instantly spoke. “Emma, why don’t you take Killian around Storybrooke today? Just a pleasant walk—the weather’s lovely, isn’t it, David—and show him your old wandering places.”

Killian turned pleading, longing, bright blue eyes to Emma and she nodded. “Sounds good, Mom,” she agreed. It was beyond past time for Killian to see Storybrooke, the place that’d started to make her into who she was today. She took a bite of her bacon. “Has anything changed drastically?”

Her parents sighed sadly and reproachfully in unison. Their sighs said _You should have visited more often, Emma, because then you’d know what’s changed and what hasn’t, what’s stayed the same for the past sixty-four years and what changed yesterday, but no, you weren’t here, you were working in New York. We’re fine with that._ “Not too much has really changed,” David said, musing. “Mr. Gold’s shop is scarier than ever, the library’s open again, and August has actually moved to a camper next to the well.”

“August actually lives next to the well now?” Killian chuckled, taking a bite of scrambled egg.

Mary Margaret glanced at Killian with eyebrow slightly raised and bemused smile. “Emma’s mentioned August?” she asked before Emma could change the subject. Would be hilarious if this was when her mother found out that Killian knew literally every detail of her life. Her surprise was quite logical; the Time of August was a subject she usually didn’t care to discuss.

“Once or twice,” Killian agreed cheerfully, not paying attention to Emma’s IF YOU LOVE ME AT ALL YOU WILL ABORT eyes. “High school boyfriend, rather odd, slightly too old for her. Obsessed with the tale of Pinocchio as I recall, right, Swan?” He turned to Emma with a pleasantly bland expression.

Emma nodded with a grin despite herself and her fear that Killian’s knowledge of her would start to give them away. August had been somewhat… peculiar. Always insisting she was a genuine fairy tale princess regardless of her insistence to be a social worker or something else decidedly less glamorous. Such as CIA agent.

“What did you put in the pancakes, Mary Margaret?” David asked out of the blue, changing the subject to Emma’s relief. Her dad had taken a bite of pancake and was chewing it thoughtfully. Killian glanced at him and his eyes widened in sudden and abject fear. Emma tried not to smile; Killian thought that her father hated the pancakes and was now going to murder him. So sweet and innocent.

Mary Margaret giggled. “Killian made them! Aren’t they delicious?” Emma leaned back in her chair to watch the proceedings. Henry glanced back and forth between the adults and took his empty plate to the sink, Mary Margaret giving him permission with a waved hand to escape to his room. She probably wouldn’t see her brother again until dinnertime. Alas.

David turned to Killian. “What did you add to them?”

Emma waited for Killian to speak, prepared to tell David that the amazingness about her husband’s pancakes was—“A few pinches of cinnamon,” Killian blurted out. Emma patted his knee.

“Well, Killian, they are in fact good,” David said with a nod and a grin. Emma rolled her eyes, for her father’s mission—intimidate daughter’s boyfriend—was still continuing.

Killian breathed a relieved laugh. “I’m glad you approve, sir. At this point, I’m fairly sure that Emma’s only alive because of these pancakes.”

“I never managed to teach her to cook,” Mary Margaret lamented. “I tried so many times, but every time we ended up with a scorched pot, a blaring fire alarm, and angry neighbors. Eventually she mastered ramen and David decided she was set for college.”

“I survived throughout four years of college without anyone cooking for me,” Emma protested. Killian’s raised eyebrow reminded her of the doctor’s appointment not long after they were married that told her how poor her assorted vitamin levels had been. Then Killian had started cooking for the two of them. Emma had started taking multivitamins.

Based on their own raised eyebrows, David and Mary Margaret seemed to agree with Killian about the whole Emma-eats-like-a-middle-or-high-schooler-unless-supervised-properly thing, so Emma changed the subject. But she _had_ survived just fine. See? She was alive and speaking. That’s all someone really needs.

“We’ll leave after breakfast then, and we’ll go meandering,” she said. Killian nodded with a closed-lip smile; he had food in his mouth. Mary Margaret beamed, her hands clasped under her chin, and David copied Killian’s nod, food and all.

\--

After they finished breakfast, both of them took quick showers and brushed their teeth. Emma tossed a dark blue button-down at Killian’s face and Killian put it on without argument, as per sometimes. Emma chose a red sweater for herself, tugging it on quickly. They both found their skinny jeans—or _straight_ , as Killian preferred—and their boots, gun, and knife.

“Ready, Swan?” Killian asked, breaking the silence as he pulled his black leather jacket on, securing his favorite knife in. He stepped around the newly made bed to grasp her hips gently.

Emma nodded slowly. “I’m not sure how I’ll react if it’s too different or too similar to how I remember it.” She straightened Killian’s lapels.

Killian merely nodded in return. “I know how you feel, my love.” And she knew he did—if he were to go back to London, the place he’d grown up, where he and Liam had been so happy and yet so abandoned, he wouldn’t know how to react.

It still amazed her how truly similar they were and how good of a team they made. Emma found herself repeating the sentence—the theme, perhaps—of this vacation. “Let’s do this.” Killian smiled then leaned forward to kiss her, a kiss probably intended to be naught more than a peck, but when Emma opened her eyes again they were sprawled across the bed and Killian had his hand up her shirt and her hands were at Killian’s shirt buttons.

Killian opened his eyes and the same surprise was in his face. He kissed her one more time and stood, straightening his jacket. “My apologies for that—” He shook his head. “Actually, no, I don’t apologize. I’ve not yet in six years and I will never apologize for kissing you.” He grinned down at Emma as she straightened her own shirt and she raised an eyebrow up at him. “But are you ready, love? Better get moving if we want to see the whole town by sunset.”

Finally the Joneses were outside of the apartment twenty six minutes after finishing breakfast. They took the steps down slowly until they were in the great metropolis of Storybrooke, population approximately one-thousand. Killian took Emma’s hand and squeezed. “I’m so glad you brought me with you, Emma,” he said contemplatively.

“Why in particular?” she asked. “And if you say it’s because you would have been bored at home, that’s a legitimate answer that I won’t argue with, but I won’t be very pleased.”

“Oh, just looking forward to seeing more of where you came from, Swan. It’s always an honor. And I do love getting to spend time with you without being consistently shot at.”

Emma tilted her head and considered. Yeah, that was when they got to spend the most time together. The CIA was good for something after all. Except for the chances of imminent death it offered. Not so great there.

They wandered throughout Storybrooke, Killian wide-eyed and excited throughout the entire walk. He admired Mr. Gold’s pawn shop with a practiced eye at the Creepy Factor; he would have spent hours in Belle’s library if not for the desire to see more stuff; he laughed as long and quietly as she did when they saw August next to the well singing to the nymph of the water and crying for Geppetto.

Emma introduced him to those they passed as her boyfriend Killian from work, and he greeted them cordially. After the sixth introduction, he commented, “It does hurt that we’re not married in the eyes of this town, love.” Emma nodded vehemently and Killian took her hand, weaving his fingers through hers. “Also, do you know _everyone_ here?”

“I’m the daughter of the best schoolteacher and the sheriff of this town.” She leaned in conspiratorially, Killian practically resting his head on her shoulder. “Yes, I know everyone.” Killian pulled back to look her in the eye, amusement written across his face. They kept walking until they got to the church.

Eventually it was time for some sort of food, and Emma texted her parents to inform them that Henry was free to eat their share of the lunch. He’d appreciate that, at any case. “Granny’s?” Emma asked as they stepped up to the front of the restaurant.

“Why, Emma, you should know better than to have to ask me that,” Killian reproached, squeezing her left hand. With his own left hand, he absently rubbed over the place where his wedding ring should have been. Now that Emma thought about it, he’d been doing it all day—apparently the man she could have named I’m-sorry-love-I-do-love-you-with-all-of-my-heart-but-I-probably-won’t-wear-the-ring-it’ll-get-in-the-way-of-everything missed his wedding ring.

Emma grinned, both from her husband’s newly revealed area of sappiness and his insistence upon eating at Granny’s. “Why should I not have to ask you that?”

“This is Storybrooke, and this is apparently the best eating establishment,” he said, motioning toward the fluorescent GRANNY’S sign. “Or so my lovely wife has informed me many times.” He turned to Emma as if to interview her for a high-end cooking magazine. “Emma Jones, what do you—”

“ _What?_ ” said a voice from the side of the patio. Emma and Killian turned in unison toward the unexpected voice, their hands moving toward their concealed knives. Ruby stood up from a table where she’d apparently been sitting for a while. “You two are _married_?”

Emma sighed. “Oh, bloody hell.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian shrugged self-deprecatingly. “I know the whole plan was my idea, and it’s still remarkably amusing, but—it was just nice, being able to talk normally to someone. Without, you know, lying about everything.”
> 
> It wasn’t much of a stretch. Those who didn’t know about the marriage didn’t know about the job. Those who knew about the marriage and not the job were few and far between, numbering about fifteen between Ruby in Storybrooke and Ariel across the hall and the best Starbucks barista in New York. Only the ones they were sent to take out knew about the job and not the relationship. Maybe five people knew about both.
> 
> And those were the dangerous ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry this chapter has taken so long (thank you for the comments in the meantime; they were exceedingly helpful in making me remember to write this eventually) but the life of a pre-med major took over and i am helpless against its pull. also this chapter was a pain to figure out. thousands and millions of thanks to katniss-annabeth-luna-mellark and literatiruinedme for putting up with me about this <3

Judging by her silence, Ruby was trying to decide whether to rip the two of them apart or congratulate them. More bashful than she’d ever seen him, Killian was shifting in his seat in the bar. Ruby had grabbed both of their hands and pulled them into the weirdly empty bar next door once she’d gotten over the sputtering outside of her grandmother’s restaurant. Emma finally sighed.

“What do you want to know, Ruby?” Killian darted a glance towards her, an eyebrow raised, and she patted his knee. _Of course not that part, you idiot._ Regina would murder her in a dark alley if she told a civilian everything. He nodded, looking remotely ashamed at having believed his wife capable of telling everything. She was better at secrets than he was, anyway, although apparently neither of them were that good when they had their guard down. “We’ll tell you anything.” There was a brief shot of guilt for that, because the idea of telling her everything—impossible. Lovely, but impossible until Regina decided they needed to stay on sick/vacation leave forever when Killian was injured more than he was right now.

Emma shuddered and Killian took her hand, squeezing gently. Was that always going to be her reaction when she imagined the love of her life dying in front of her? Probably. Seeing it once, seeing that explosion a few hundred yards away and _knowing_ that Killian was there, was quite enough. She felt a slight flash of annoyance for her own feelings all of a sudden—she’d been far more calloused and CIA-recommended closed-off before she fell in love with Killian Jones. It had been so much easier then, when she didn’t have someone to come home to every night.

Ruby took a deep breath, her eyes glowing with the light of curiosity and slight anger combined. “How long have you been married? And how long did you date before that?”

“We’ve been married for five years,” Emma said. Ruby’s mouth fell open. Wow, that sounded really bad. She was a horrible daughter and probably a horrible wife, too, for never telling anyone about this. Eh, they’d get over it eventually.

Killian, accepting that someone had found out and that finally he’d get to be married again for a while, smirked. “And we dated for a year before we got engaged. Then it was another…” He thought about it for a moment and Emma waited with a smirk of her own. “Two months before we got married.” Ah, he’d gone with the unrecorded Vegas marriage they’d done on a whim before the official courtroom affair. Classic. The official thing had only been another month after Vegas, but still, there was a difference.

Ruby stared. “Five _years_? How in the world did you keep this from your parents? I could have believed a few months, a year at most, but this is _insane_.”

Emma winced and Killian leaned forward. “That’s an amusing story, Ruby. Once upon a time, Emma forgot to mention to her lovely parents, who are actually truly charming, that I existed and we were dating. Then, she helpfully forgot to mention that we were engaged. Then, while I was on a work trip to Europe and she came back to Storybrooke for a visit, she forgot to tell her loved ones that we were married. By the by, they found out I existed when I answered the phone at home. Good surprise, aye?”

Emma punched him in the shoulder lightly, falling back against the bench in the bar with a groan. “What was I going to do? ‘Hey, Mom, Dad, how have you been? In New York at work I met this guy and we fell in love and got married and it’s been two years since I legally changed my name to Emma Swan _Jones_ for legal ease, just to add a little more confusion to this family’s naming problem. Oh, and no, I didn’t bring him to meet you or even get your approval to marry him in the first place, and guess what! He’s in Europe on a work trip!”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t have gone over really well,” Ruby reflected.

“Why not?” Killian asked indignantly.

Ruby leaned forward in her seat. Emma noticed that she seemed to be handling the whole bombshell rather well. Was there yet hope for her parents? She knew Ruby’s next words would shatter that hope. Perhaps Ruby was just used to improbable things. “There’s a thing about Storybrooke, Mr. Swan. It’s populated primarily by those who believe in fairy tales and happily ever after. It’s one thing to disappear off somewhere and come back with a supposed true love husband. She would have been adored. It’s another to come back and announce you have one but… he’s in Europe. Almost unreachable. Emma would have been…”

“Hounded,” Emma inserted. “They would all have demanded to know where you were and many would have doubted that you existed. I’m sure my mom would have thought you were a clever story to prevent her from setting me up with anyone. And then she would have tried to set me up with someone. Probably Walsh.” Ruby cringed at the name. Ooh. Apparently he was still around, or else the stories of him and Dorothy were still being told.

Killian threw his arms up in the air and let his left arm fall around Emma’s shoulders, his fingers drumming against her arm as he thought about the complexities of Storybrooke’s belief in happily-ever-after. “That wouldn’t have done at all,” Killian sighed.

“Yeah, probably not,” she said with a grin. “I rather wanted to avoid it all. And also, well, at that point it was just awkward.” Killian made an exaggerated grimace that said exactly what he thought of that.

Ruby leaned back in her chair, a glint in her eye telling Emma that she was up to exactly no good. “How and when are you going to tell your parents?”

“We were hoping we wouldn’t have to,” Emma admitted. “Killian’s going to do the full Swan, _will you marry me_ at some point, I’ll accept with great joy, et cetera, then my mom can do as she pleases. It should be amusing.”

Ruby laughed. Killian raised an eyebrow. What kind of laughter was this, Emma had to wonder. Genuine this is hilarious or I can’t wait to see you crash and burn? “I can’t wait to watch this go down,” Ruby finally said. Bit of both, then.

“Promise you won’t tell them?” Emma asked. That would be hilarious, of course, having Ruby tell her parents instead of either of them, but probably would go over far worse than anything else.

Ruby scoffed. “Of course I won’t tell them. This is too interesting. Promise I can be there on the day you do tell them, though. I want to see David’s reaction.”

Killian let his head fall to the table, his forehead clunking a bit too hard. Emma and Ruby glanced at each other, then down at him. “He was just starting to like me,” Killian whined.

Emma laughed at his and her father’s bromance and his fear of losing such an asset. It was honestly adorable. And it was so much more than she could have ever hoped for, Killian meeting her dad. She had been expecting guns blazing and words thrown and Henry staring at the whole thing like a particularly interesting ping pong tournament. Instead, she’d gotten a relatively civil conversation and two grown men arguing over Henry’s old Mario Kart game like children. It was a pleasant surprise.

Ruby was less sympathetic as she motioned for a waiter. They would be buying her lunch, apparently. “Get it together, Mr. Swan.”

\--

“So, Ruby knows,” Killian said that night as they got ready for bed. They’d spent the rest of the day with Henry, wandering through the Storybrooke forest and then the world of Minecraft. Emma nodded slowly as she straightened her long t-shirt. “What do you think about it?”

“I’m fine with it, better than I expected, anyway,” she said, fluffing her pillow and then face planting on the bed. This bed was rather comfortable, but the pillows just weren’t up to par with their apartment. Emma vaguely wondered how well Ariel was taking care of the place and if they’d remembered to unplug everything before they left. Would be embarrassing if her curling iron had burned down the place. She rolled over to face Killian. “I expected to be a little more scared about it. And I’m quite ashamed of us, that we couldn’t keep the secret longer. Regina would be furious if she knew. Why?”

Killian shrugged self-deprecatingly. “I know the whole plan was my idea, and it’s still remarkably amusing, but—it was just nice, being able to talk normally to someone. Without, you know, lying about _everything_. We do that for a living. A break from that was good.”

It wasn’t much of a stretch. Those who didn’t know about the marriage didn’t know about the job. Those who knew about the marriage and not the job were few and far between, numbering about fifteen between Ruby in Storybrooke and Ariel across the hall and the best Starbucks barista in New York. Only the ones they were sent to take out knew about the job and not the relationship. Maybe five people knew about both.

And those were the dangerous ones.

\--

They got up the next morning with few expectations for the day: perhaps a trip to the Christmas tree lot and a sojourn to the roof to hang the icicle lights from the gutter were all of the activities Mary Margaret had told them the night before. Twenty minutes’ worth of mundane activities passed—wake up, morning kiss, shower, brush teeth, greet parents and brother, eat breakfast, sit on couch with an exhausted sigh—before they noticed that the world had transformed into a glowing white wonderland.

Killian twisted around to stare out at the falling snow in awe, resting his chin on the back of the couch, and Emma, across the room with newly-acquired hot chocolate in hand, watched him gaze at the snowflakes drift to the ground. He always looked so much younger in the morning, before he had time to settle back into the normal stresses of the day. She jumped when an arm fell around her shoulders, interrupting her musings about the attractiveness of her husband.

“Besotted, are we?” Mary Margaret asked, her sweet voice transformed into that gooey tone she’d had when the Nolans had first adopted Emma, who was only about fifteen years younger than them. David had immediately settled into conspiratorial Dad who could be confided in about everything except English class, and neither of them had disputed it. Mary Margaret had floated around between best friend and Mom for the first few months until figuring out her new role, and Emma had only been too grateful when she decided on being Mom. This was the best friend “let’s talk about boys” voice that she’d never completely dropped.

“Mom…” she muttered in accordance with the unfortunate tradition. She leaned her head on Mary Margaret’s, just the same height. She had to remind herself suddenly why she hadn’t been home in so long—oh, right—fear of the past plus unmentioned husband plus secret job. Reasons good enough? Probably not.

Mary Margaret grinned and pulled Emma into her and David’s bedroom, closing the door between themselves and Killian. “Come on, tell me about everything. Your father said some things that Killian told him, but I want to hear it from you!” She sat down on the bed and sat cross-legged, elbows on knees, chin in hands. She looked the very picture of an eager high schooler, ready for the latest gossip.

Ah. Another reason she hadn’t been home in a while. This very picture.

Emma sat down on the bed slowly, not quite as enthusiastic about the discussion as her mother. “What do you want to know?”

“Your point of view on your relationship! You haven’t brought anyone home in so long. I was getting concerned, Emma. It’s not my business, really, but it is my job. And you seem happy now, and I want to hear about how.” Somewhere in her little speech Mary Margaret’s eyes filled prettily with tears. Emma sighed inwardly; it wasn’t like she didn’t like talking about how she and Killian met—she just didn’t have much practice telling the story in a government-approved way.

“We met at work a few years ago—”

“Aww, coworker romance!”

Emma laughed. She heard a noise in the living room—Killian. Laughing at her mother with her. Adorable, and not subtle. “Not at first. He was incredibly annoying, talked too much, and was infuriatingly attractive.”

“At least one of those hasn’t changed,” Mary Margaret said, an eyebrow raised.

“Yes, he does still talk a lot,” Emma mused. “Haven’t managed to break him of that. Goodness knows I’ve tried.”

Mary Margaret gaped for a moment.

Emma continued without acknowledging the fact that her husband was in fact a fine wine of a man and had only gotten more attractive over the past six years. “Then he started to get a little less annoying, asked me out, I refused, a few months passed, he got even less annoying and a great deal sweeter, asked me out again, and I said yes.”

Mary Margaret, having gotten over her dramatic surprise, gasped another “aww” in proper character. Hearts poured out of her eyes for a moment as she probably tried to imagine the arrogantly flirtatious and baby-faced Killian Jones Emma had met in Russia. Emma giggled to herself, remembering that he hadn’t even had a beard when they met. Their second meeting was rather jarring, since she had, over the years, calculated his attractiveness to increase exponentially with the facial hair.

Also, he had taken the hint remarkably quickly at their first meeting—arrogant jerks were, in fact, considered jerks by most women. Their second meeting featured a flirtatious, attractive, and weirdly shy man only a few degrees removed from the real Killian Jones.

“So how are you two doing?” Mary Margaret asked, her voice lowering slightly, possibly aware that Killian could hear them. “Based on the phone call, I’m assuming you two are living together? How is that?”

Emma flushed slightly but nodded. The woman was incredible, how she could switch from pure innocence to complete bluntness in a second. “We have an apartment in New York, yeah. We’ve had that for a while.” Around two years, when they moved across the city. That was, of course, nowhere near when they moved in together, but it wasn’t a complete lie.

Mary Margaret smiled. “I’ll have to come visit sometime, pretend that it’s just a trip for Henry, school or something like that. When actually—”

“—you’ll probably end up redecorating my apartment,” Emma said drily. It’s exactly what happened when Belle got her apartment. Killian would welcome it, based on the homey comment when they got to Storybrooke.

Mary Margaret nodded, not at all repentant about the whole thing. Then her eyes went completely serious, and Emma froze when she realized that she knew the exact question coming next. “Where do you think the relationship is going, Emma?”

It was the question that had eventually put an end to every former relationships. It was the question that always made Emma run far, far away from whatever pain was about to happen. It was the question she had asked herself for the three days between Killian asking her out and her acceptance. It was the question she had asked herself when Killian started mentioning marriage a mere six months into their relationship.

It was the question that, two days ago, she would have brought back old Emma to answer. Storybrooke didn’t know new Emma, let alone Emma Swan Jones, and it would have worked. Her mom would have been sad, but not overly surprised. But today—well, someone already knew. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, apparently, if people found out. She wasn’t going to become old Emma again. Today, she’d let her mother in on a little of their secret.

“It’s going well, Mom. It really is.” Soft smile at the mother’s newfound tears. Just to drive the point home and erase any lingering doubts in her mind: “I love him; I’m fairly sure he loves me. We don’t have everything planned right now, but it’s enough.”

One tear trickled down Mary Margaret’s face. Emma reached forward and hugged her, fully aware that she’d just given her mom some hope for her Emma’s Happy Ending Project for the first time. Something good was really coming out of the whole trip.

\--

“What happened after that, before your father came in requesting lunch? I could tell your mother was crying but nothing else. Tears of joy, I should hope. And then you came out and dragged me out into this whitened world of cold crystals.”

“So much alliteration. You should be a poet,” Emma muttered, pushing herself further into Killian’s side. It was cold. She tucked her arm through his, his stiffened hand securely inside his jacket pocket. “She clearly wanted to talk to Dad about the whole thing, compare notes with his talk with you, and probably pull out all of the binders she’s had lying around for my future. I hope Dad realizes we’re not having lunch for a while.”

Killian laughed. His smile could have melted the snow around them. “Wedding binders? Or does she have more? Mary Margaret Nolan, planning out her daughter’s life, one binder at a time.”

“All of them. Wedding, honeymoon, first house, children’s names, types of pets, the works,” Emma said with a combination of fondness, disgust, and resignation as Killian laughed again. At least she’d been consulted on some of them. Interestingly, one of those was not her own children’s names. She wondered what Killian would think about the name of their firstborn son being known as _Leopold_. Ruth wasn’t bad for a daughter, but she really hoped that he’d think Leopold just as ridiculous as she did. Because it was ridiculous, even just as Leo.

Killian stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk. Emma glanced up at him curiously, only to find his shyest smile. “I heard what you said about our courtship and life together.”

Emma turned to face him properly. “I couldn’t think of what to say, really, that was just impulse to keep her happy—”

He leaned down and kissed her, her face suddenly warming in the cold air with the contact. She could feel his smile in the kiss and that knowledge made her grin almost uncontrollably. She pulled her hands out of her pockets to tug him closer even as his hands rested against her ribs. She lost track of time, there in the street, until Killian pulled away. His eyes met hers, and she was, as always, awed by the depths of love and compassion and grace and hope and adoration she saw within. “I do love you, Emma Swan.”

“I love you too, Killian Jones,” she whispered, resting her forehead against his. He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips again before pulling away just enough to continue walking down the street.

“I believe I’ll ask your father for your hand soon,” Killian said contemplatively. Emma looked up at him, an eyebrow raised. Earlier than she would have expected. “If that would be all right with you, of course,” he amended. “I’m not accustomed to asking the father before marrying the love of my life, Emma. I’ve only done it once, forgive me. But I’m quite impatient with the whole not-being-married-to-you thing. It’s gotten old in these past few days. Rather faster than I had expected, truth be told.”

“Oh, you know I would have said yes anyway. Maybe wait a little, though, until they’re more used to the fact that Emma Swan is in love,” she said as he glared at her for a second before letting it soften into a sappy grin at the whole thought. He was a sappy creature, she thought as she pulled him down for a short kiss. Such joy at the prospect of another wedding.

Killian thought about it for a moment and shrugged. “Who’s to say I’ll wait that long, really? I may ask tomorrow. This time, I’ll let it be a surprise. After all, I’m not even the slightest bit apprehensive as to your answer to my suit,” he said, emphasizing the _t_.

Emma almost protested—the first proposal had been a surprise—no, it really hadn’t. Not a lot of things, excepting her ring burning a hole in his jacket pocket, made Killian Jones that nervous, nervous enough to trip over his words for a solid week, to almost cause a massive car accident, and to completely flunk his shooting exam. He had been adorably terrified, a fear that was quickly alleviated when she nearly screeched her yes. Then he had promptly returned to his old self and retaken his shooting evaluation. “No, probably shouldn’t be concerned about my answer,” she said glibly.

It was going to be a resounding YES like the first time, except maybe a little louder. Emma found herself getting a bit giddy at the thought, almost as much as Killian was, judging by the strength he was holding her hand and the little grin that seemed to not want to leave his face.

“I’ll inform Regina that we’ll be staying longer in Storybrooke than expected,” Emma said. “I’ll tell her that your hand’s gone gangrenous.” Killian grimaced, flexing his hand stiffly, and Emma winced at her own words. She squeezed his arm in apology. “Or maybe I’ll just get the flu. Perhaps a rare strain of chicken pox. And I’ll tell my parents that we’ll be using up their hospitality a little longer. They’ll wish us long gone by the time we actually leave. Maybe we should move into Granny’s after Christmas.”

Killian nodded emphatically. It’s only so long that someone can live with their in-laws without a little tension, no matter how well everyone’s getting along. “What shall we tell them as an excuse for staying in Storybrooke?” he asked. “I’m sure that normal jobs wouldn’t tell their employees to stay on vacation for a far longer time than expected. Oh, I know, we could get laid off. Handy economy for that, aye?”

Emma grimaced. Her parents would be too concerned if that were to happen to both of them at once. Unbearably concerned. She couldn’t do that to them, not after everything that had happened recently, and Killian wouldn’t risk his slowly-growing relationship with them.

“We’ll figure it out, love,” Killian said, turning to face her again and lifting her chin up to look her in the eyes. The smile in his eyes—ugh, she loved him.

\--

Mary Margaret soon called about the grilled cheese she and Henry were working on. They were a brisk five minutes away from the apartment and lunch, walking down Main Street among the piling snow, when Killian suddenly froze for a single second. Emma knew that face. He’d heard something, and his senses were practically flawless. They were being followed, too close to home.

They continued walking as normal, Emma clasping Killian’s arm just as gently and Killian still talking about how he wanted them to get a cat. Without hearing anything, Emma unzipped her jacket just enough that it’d be easy to get the gun she had sewn into a pocket. She leaned her head against Killian’s shoulder to try to mask the movement.

“If it’s spotted, it would be Andy or April, obviously.” Emma nodded. The connection between Parks and Rec and a spotted cat wasn’t obvious, exactly, but she wasn’t going to argue about that one. Both were good names. “If it’s grey, we should name it Kelly,” Killian said contemplatively. There it was, a rustle in the alleyway. Almost certainly human.

“Why Kelly?” she asked. Strange name, but she wasn’t going to argue about it. Didn’t really have time, either. The rustling was gone. Killian looked down at her, also glancing toward the alley where they’d last heard the noise.

He shrugged, shaking his head slightly. “It’s a good name, Swan. Don’t diss the name.” He didn’t see anyone.

She raised her hands, simultaneously pulling her arm from Killian’s light grip. “Not dissing the name, Killian. Just curious as to where you got it from.” They passed in front of Mr. Gold’s shop and Emma braced herself for the alley beside it.

The person stood in the center of the path, clearly about to hide but just slightly too slow to melt into the shadows. They were about Emma’s size but a few inches shorter, and she—it was a she, Emma decided based on the length of hair and overall build—wore a black hoodie and black sweatpants. Her face was hidden by the shadows.

“What do you want?” Killian asked, his voice rough and commanding.

The girl shook her head. She took her right hand out of her jacket pocket and reached for her back pocket. Killian’s hand flashed into his jeans and his gun flashed in the fading afternoon sun within another second. The girl took a step back, a short knife appearing in her hand with almost as much grace.

“Why have you been following us?” Emma asked, prepared to grab the gun if Killian so much as twitched a confirmation. The girl shook her head, still not speaking. As her head moved, the hood of her hoodie fell. Emma saw her face and gasped at the recognition. Killian straightened, his grip on the gun tightening. The girl—woman, Emma knew—took another step back, her eyes widening.

Then she turned and ran. Killian took one step but stopped before he could continue the chase. Emma couldn’t summon the willpower to run after her. How could she—?

With another flash, Killian replaced his gun in the back of his jeans. “Do you know her, Swan?” he asked gruffly, shaking his head slightly.

 “That’s Ashley,” Emma said, still shell-shocked. “I went to school with her. I babysat her daughter Alexandra junior year while she was in morning classes. ”

Killian nodded, rubbing his scarred left hand with his right hand. Suddenly, the snowy air wasn’t cold anymore. “I remember her, as well,” he said. Emma turned her head to look into his face. Neither of them moved to touch the other. His eyes were wide and haunted, remembering. “I’ve only seen her once, but I remembered her face, so wide-eyed and innocent. She was on the dock, near the detonation site, the day it exploded.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What about Christmas?”
> 
> Killian leaned forward enough for their noses to nudge together. “We came for Christmas, love. Your parents invited us for Christmas. Obviously whatever's happening with Ashley is a problem, and we’ll deal with it. But we have to pretend that Christmas is the most important thing right now.”
> 
> “Because it actually is.” Emma finished his thought.
> 
> “Indeed,” Killian murmured sleepily. “You’ll go shopping with the lad tomorrow and I’ll assist my mother-in-law with decorating, which I’m sure will be a lovely bonding experience for all of us. I do hope that I’m at least capable of hanging lights. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i thought the last chapter took a long time. apparently it's possible to take longer. whoops. i really appreciate all of your comments and kudos in the meantime! and, as always, thank you so much katniss-annabeth-luna-mellark for reading this over!

“Mom, have you heard from Ashley Boyd lately?” Emma asked, taking a bite of her grilled cheese. Her face was perfectly bland and cheerful. For all her family knew, she was simply catching up on old friends and enjoying the extra cheesiness of the grilled cheese. She took another bite. It was very cheesy. Henry must have put in an extra few slices. Good kid, he was.

Mary Margaret canted her head as she thought. Henry reached for the wavy fries even though he’d already eaten a serving and a half from his and Mary Margaret’s plates. Emma reached out and lightly slapped his hand away from Killian’s share and the boy pouted. “From the last I heard of her, she and Sean had gotten married and taken Alexandra to New York. I’m not sure when that was, though, or what they’ve been doing since. Why do you ask?”

Killian reached for a single fry, shoving it into his mouth with a strange grace, albeit lack of manners. The only evidence of his tension was the tremor in his scarred hand. He finished chewing and swallowing before speaking, giving Emma some hope for the table manners of their future children. “Swan and I were discussing her old schoolmates, and she remembered what had become of all of them except for the aforementioned Ashley.” Mary Margaret nodded, fully accepting the truth.

David took a meditative bite of grilled cheese. His appeared to have a hamburger stuffed inside the fried cheese post-grilling. Emma took note; maybe Robin would appreciate that the next time the Hoods came for dinner. “Sean’s a good kid. Really great with Alex, last I saw them.” David caught a bit of mustard from his sandwich—it wasn’t even a grilled cheese anymore, apparently, or at least it didn’t deserve the simple title—with a fry and continued his lunch without a care in the world.

“Alex was sweet, at least in high school,” Emma added, suddenly longing for her father’s calmness. There was only so much more of this skirting-around-the-real-topic she could take. Judging by the tremor continuing in Killian’s hand, he was about done with the conversation. They were used to being able to jump straight into their real topic, although that usually involved pointing a gun at someone’s head.

Mary Margaret made a noncommittal hum before her eyes darted to Killian’s hand. “Are you okay, Killian?”

Killian glanced down at his hand and noticed the tremors. His face smoothed out and he sighed slightly, staring at his hand and forming a fist, the shaking slowing almost immediately. Emma reached for his hand and he let her take it, although there was nothing she could do except squeeze his hand so that his muscles could focus on something aside from stress. “Aye, I’m fine. The nerves don’t really know what to do with themselves anymore, sometimes causing tremors. The doctor said it should stop eventually.”

The doctor had really said, “These tremors, man, it’s almost entirely psychological even with the nerve damage that’s technically causing it. From what you’ve described, it’s gonna show up when you’re stressed, so don’t risk too much in poker, you’ll lose. I also recommend therapy for theoretical PTSD.” Of course, Killian being who he was, Emma had noticed that the shaking really just manifested when he was frustrated. Not particularly stressed, but generally during interrogation.

“Anyway—” thank goodness for little brothers and their tendency to interrupt “—I was wondering who would like to take me Christmas shopping tomorrow,” Henry said, leaning forward. Mary Margaret and David both froze, glancing back and forth between each other, Henry, and Emma. “Unless you’re going to say I’m old enough to take myself, but I’m not expecting that yet,” Henry continued drily.

Emma thought about it. Today was December 20; Christmas was in five days. Only five days to find something for everyone, all the people she hadn’t seen in long enough that she had no idea what to get them. Henry would probably be help with that. “I’ll take you, kid, as long as you promise to help me figure out a present for whoever’s coming on Christmas.”

Henry beamed and nodded before trying to look cool again. Emma tilted her head as she looked at her little brother. The sheer joy on his face… what did that mean? Mary Margaret clapped her hands together. “That’ll be wonderful, Emma! And if you’re gone with Henry, that means Killian can help me with the decorations!”

Killian froze and stared at his mother-in-law. “What kind of decorations are entailed in that description?” he asked, and Emma tried not to laugh at him. He’d never really done a massive Christmas like the Nolans always put together, and they were masters at managing to do four weeks of decorating, baking, and shopping in five days. It had been quite the shock when David had explained how it all worked right before her first Nolan Christmas.

“So that’s settled,” David said cheerfully. “Emma and Henry will do their shopping tomorrow and Killian and Mary Margaret will get the decorations started while I go to work. The petty thieves wait for no one, not even Christmas.” Emma answered his grin with an uncertain one of her own, and Killian merely looked concerned.

\--

“Killian,” Emma sighed as she flopped back onto the bed.

“Yes, my love?” he asked from the bathroom.

“Stop staring at your own face and get in here.”

Killian stepped out of the bathroom, looking decidedly peeved. She would have laughed at his precious face but his eyes were too serious and he held his hand stiffly by his side. “My hand’s getting worse, Swan.”

“Do you want to go to the doctor tomorrow?” He stared at her for ten seconds, not moving from the doorway. Emma rolled her eyes. “Call me optimistic, but I’ll keep asking. It’s like how you kept asking if we had to go to the hospital in Russia and I kept saying no even though you were about ready to drag me there. Remember that feeling and you’ll know how I feel.”

He took a short, exasperated breath before speaking. “You had been shot. I was being a proper partner, concerned for his girlfriend.” His voice was about as amused as his eyes, which were now throwing daggers at her. “This psychosomatic tremor does not compare, my dearest love.” Finally he turned the bathroom light off, letting the room drown in the sudden darkness. There wasn’t so much as a street light outside to light the room.

Emma sighed again as Killian gently nudged her under the blankets so that her back was to him. “What are you going to do about it, then?” His hand landed on her stomach without much grace and she started massaging the shaking hand. Killian sighed happily.

They were silent for ten minutes, soaking up the other’s warmth and relishing the fact that they were completely alone. “I love you, Swan,” Killian murmured, his voice already raspy with sleep.

“Oh, no, you can’t go to sleep yet,” she whispered back. He pulled her closer and kissed her shoulder.

“As you wish,” he groaned, just under his breath. “What is it, love?”

Emma took a big breath. “What are we going to do about Ashley and all of that?”

“Can we do anything right now?”

Emma raised an eyebrow even though Killian couldn’t see it. “We can track her down and find out what’s happening. We can look around town for whoever she’s taking orders from, assuming that they’re here too. There’s a host of things we can do, Killian.”

Killian kissed her shoulder twice, letting his mouth linger over an old scar from a bullet three years ago. Emma held her breath for a moment, wondering how much further he was going to go. “I know I was anxious to find out what was happening earlier, during lunch. Which is probably the reason I started shaking, incidentally one of the worst possible side effects from an explosion.” He tilted his head and kissed the base of her neck. “But Henry reminded me of something.”

“What’s that?”

“Christmas is in just a few days.”

Emma rolled over to face her husband in one smooth movement. He took that as an invitation to pull her even closer and she couldn’t really argue with his interpretation. Peering into the darkness of the room, she almost saw the grin on his face once he came into focus and she couldn’t hold her own smile back. They spent a minute smiling stupidly at each other—the smiles were the reason that Ariel and her husband Eric called them real-life Disney characters. Apparently even from the beginning they’d had some sort of lovesick gaze, and it had also been enough for Regina to make them partners—until Emma remembered their conversation.

“What about Christmas?”

Killian leaned forward enough for their noses to nudge together. “We came for Christmas, love. Your parents invited us for Christmas. Obviously this problem with Ashley is a problem, and we’ll deal with it. But we have to pretend that Christmas is the most important thing right now.”

“Because it actually is.” Emma finished his thought.

“Indeed,” Killian murmured sleepily. “You’ll go shopping with the lad tomorrow and I’ll assist my mother-in-law with decorating, which I’m sure will be a lovely bonding experience for all of us. I do hope that I’m at least capable of hanging lights. I think your mother would laugh at me otherwise.” He kissed her quickly.

“You decorated our tree last Christmas, even if it was only three feet tall, and it was beautiful. You’ll do just fine.” She kissed him, lingering a little longer, before closing her eyes and preparing to shut her brain down for sleep.

“We can find Ashley later,” Killian whispered. “We’ll do it together, later.” Emma nodded, squeezing her eyes closed. The last thing she felt was another kiss on her forehead and his whispered “I love you, Emma” before she drifted off to sleep.

\--

“Come on, Emma,” Henry called from a few steps ahead. “We’re probably too late already, because someone forgot it was Christmas, but I want to make sure I can find something for everyone!”

“You’ll find something, kid, don’t worry. And it wasn’t just one person who forgot. It was all of us idiot adults.” Emma jogged a few steps to catch up with her little brother. They’d just dropped off their dad at the police station for his second-to-last work day before Christmas, leaving Emma and Henry to browse the town. “Who’s coming for Christmas, anyway?”

Henry looked up at Emma—not too far up, he was almost as tall as her and this line of thinking was going to make her depressed—as if she were the stupidest person he’d ever met. “Don’t you remember?”

“It’s been a really long time, Henry.”

Henry scuffed his shoe against the pavement. “Yeah, that’s true.” He lightened up as quickly as he’d gotten grumpy. “It’s you, me, Mom, Dad, Killian, Ruby, Granny, and Dad said he’s maybe inviting Graham and Leroy. Mom wanted to invite more, but Dad said we didn’t have any more room.”

Emma thought about the guest list for a moment. Graham, she’d known for forever; there would be some excellent faking involved there. Leroy, well, he never cared about her love life and they could probably wear their wedding rings and he wouldn’t notice. “Sounds great, kid. You didn’t want to invite Violet?” she teased. That would absolutely make the day, if she and Killian and her father got to watch Henry bumble around with his family and his crush at the same time.

Henry blushed as red as Killian did when he asked her out the first two times. “Mom told me to, but she said she and her dad were going down to Boston for the week.”

“Oh, you poor thing!” Emma emoted. Henry only turned redder, so she let the thing go, even though she was rather longing to meet the girl of Henry’s dreams and fancies. Probably for the best, though, as Killian would have taken it upon himself to tease his younger brother-in-law quite mercilessly. He had no such qualms in making fun of his fellow species in regards to the fairer sex, as he’d termed them.

They turned into the first store of the day. Henry went immediately to the blankets in the corner while Emma trailed along behind him, eyes sharp for anything her parents might fancy as well as Ashley. She and Killian had agreed that they would spend the day with family, enjoying the time and the season and the frankly frigid temperatures, but Emma couldn’t stop herself from keeping a look-out. The last time she’d forgotten to keep her eyes open—Emma shuddered, the table of necklaces in front of her shaking as her hands clenched on the edge of the table. Killian was okay, and Henry would be fine.

They were fine. It would be okay. That would be her mantra for the day, she supposed, grimacing at the jewelry.

Emma already had a necklace for her mom in her suitcase, and she’d found a tie for her dad five months ago. Maybe she could convince Killian to go back out with her to get a present for Henry, so she didn’t have to try to hide it during the current shopping trip.

Her parents would have found something for Granny and Leroy. That left Ruby and Graham. Ruby would be tricky—a continuation of the “don’t tell everyone we’re married” bribe. Graham would probably appreciate a watch. She glanced over the watches and found a piece that looked sheriff-like. Success. Killian would probably also like it, since it looked relatively old and did not possess the “digital nonsense that prevents people from reading a simple clock,” as he had ranted on one memorable date night several years back.

With the watch in hand, Emma decided that it was time to return to the little brother. “What’d you find, kid?” she asked when she was a few steps away from Henry. He jolted visibly and Emma mentally sighed. She was wearing her most comfortable shoes, which meant they were perfectly matched to her feet in such a way that she was silent without even concentrating.

“How did you walk that quietly?” Henry half-shrieked.

“Sorry, kid, I think it’s the shoes,” she apologized as succinctly as she could, resolving to walk with a little less finesse for a while. “Find anything good?”

Henry let the shoe thing go after one last glare, then he turned to the blankets he’d been staring at. “Dad keeps complaining about how cold it is in the house, because he’s old. Do you think he’d like the red one or the blue one?”

Emma stared at the blankets. The red one looked more like their dad—a little more professional, didn’t look quite as cushy but was still soft—but the blue one would match the living room better, even though that really wasn’t a big deal in their house. “I don’t know, Henry. Try flipping a coin and, if you don’t like what the quarter says, go with the other one.”

Henry nodded solemnly as Emma handed him the coin. He assigned the blankets and flipped the coin in silence, finally reaching for the red one. “Good method, Emma.”

“Thanks,” she said as he laid the quarter back in her palm. She scrambled for something to say. “Tell me about Violet,” she finally decided on.

Henry flushed bright red and walked as quickly as he could toward the cashier. “Shut up.”

Emma grinned.

\--

An hour into the shopping trip—they hadn’t found anything in the next quaint little store, so had switched to the next one in search of things for their mom and Ruby—Emma’s phone blared out its happy ring.

As she glanced at the screen, she handed Henry a twenty and the bracelet set she’d found for Ruby, waving toward the cash register. “Mom?”

“Hi, honey!” her mom’s cheerful voice rang out. Emma watched Henry purchase the bracelet and her mom’s new ceramic bird. “Just calling to check on you and Henry!”

“We’re fine,” Emma replied cautiously. Through the phone, she heard another voice.

“What are you doing? Are you calling her? For god’s sake, I’m _fine_!” Killian. His voice was muffled, since he was probably several feet away, but she could hear the frustration from miles away.

Emma motioned to Henry, and they abandoned the store for hopefully better reception. “Mom? What happened?”

“Your boyfriend was hanging some lights, and—”

Emma interrupted. “Is anything broken? Hand the phone to Killian.” She turned to Henry. “I think Killian’s broken himself. Do you mind if we head back a bit early?”

“I’m done,” Henry said, wide-eyed. “Is Killian okay?”

“I’ll know if he ever _answers_ —”

“I’m fine, love. No need to cut the excursion short. I just fell off the ladder and twisted my ankle. Should be mended in a few hours with the sheer amount of ice that’s currently resting on the poor thing.” Emma grinned. Killian was probably only barely not glaring at his mother-in-law.

Suddenly, Henry laughed, apparently hearing Killian’s grumbles through the phone. And possibly from miles away, just like the frustration. “We’re on the way home, babe,” Emma added to Killian. “Even if just to save you from the frozen peas.”

And, amid manly protests, she hung up the phone. She allowed herself to seethe for a moment. How was it that Killian Jones, one of the CIA’s greatest on the East Coast, was able to get out of a firefight in Budapest with nary a scratch, or go on a jog through Chicago at night and escape all sorts of trouble, and yet the moment she left him alone with a string of lights and a ladder, he was laid up on the couch? It made no sense.

Emma breathed deeply, leaving the rest of the frustration for the husband’s ears. She turned to Henry, who was being ridiculously patient throughout the whole thing. “Did you find good stuff for everyone? I’m sorry that this hasn’t ended up being much of a bonding experience.”

Henry grinned up at her. “Are you kidding? You’re _here_ , in Storybrooke. This entire Christmas vacation is a bonding experience.” He continued, leaving her to drown in guilt once more. “I think so. I got the blanket for Dad and the bird for Mom. Oh, and I found this for Killian—” he rummaged in one of the shopping bags “—if you think he’ll like it.”

Henry held out a compass, about two inches in diameter. The needle wasn’t pointing north and it looked vaguely like a small child had gotten ahold of it at some point in its life. It was perfect. Emma leaned in and pulled Henry into her side, suddenly overcome with how sweet her baby brother was. “It’s great, Henry. He’s going to love it.”

“Don’t tell him what it is.”

“Of course not,” Emma said, offended. “What’s the fun in that? Did you get anything for Violet?”

Henry blushed bright red again—she really needed to stop teasing him about this before he popped a blood vessel somewhere, but she was curious if Henry thought the friendship warranted a special Christmas present. He pulled out a small notebook, blue and purple colors marbled into a masterpiece on the cover. “She likes my notebooks, and she said she wanted one once even though she doesn’t like writing that much. So… do you think she’ll like it?”

He stared up at her earnestly, begging for some sort of reassurance. “She’ll love it. Haven’t met her, but I’m sure she’ll like anything you get her.” And there was the big sister reassurance and love she could provide.

They walked the rest of the way to the Nolan home in silence. Emma kept her arm wrapped around Henry’s shoulders, but she didn’t feel much need to talk. The faint smile on Henry’s face was more than enough.

\--

Emma sat down on the couch next to Killian, trying not to let any emotions except vague concern channel through. Killian wouldn’t appreciate the amusement—but seriously, though, he should have been better than this—and her mom wouldn’t understand and wasn’t allowed to understand her frustration—this was also her partner, and they had important plans for the evening.

“How is it feeling?” Mary Margaret asked, her soft, sad eyes putting the average Labrador’s to shame. “Can I get you anything? How about some hot chocolate?”

Emma patted Killian’s hand as he replied, “I’m just fine, thank you, Mrs. Nolan. I really appreciate you caring for me when most of the house remains undecorated.”

Mary Margaret waved her hand about as she started work on the unsolicited hot chocolate. “No problem, dear! And call me Mary Margaret! You’ve _more_ than earned it.” Within moments, she’d finished the hot chocolate and placed it in Killian’s hands. Emma just as quickly took it away to prevent accidental spills, since that seemed the theme of the afternoon.

“Mom?” Henry appeared in the kitchen. “I can help with the decorations, if you want.”

“Oh, that would be great, honey! You’ll watch Killian, right, Emma? I have more frozen peas if the first ones start thawing. Let me know if you need anything!”

In the blink of an eye, her mom and Henry had disappeared to finish with the lights and other decorations. Emma wondered for a moment how Henry was going to be much help with the whole endeavor, but then she remembered that Henry was almost taller than she was, and she’d helped their mom with the lights plenty of times.

She sighed. So much growing up had happened while the CIA kept her away.

Finally, she turned to Killian. He turned immediately after she did, no doubt fearing some sort of Emma anger at the fact that he’d managed to hurt himself when she wasn’t there to prevent it. “I’m not mad,” Emma said. She was a little frustrated, vaguely triggered by the last time she was too late, and slightly disappointed that she and Henry had had to come home a little early, but it wasn’t bad.

“Why would you be mad?” Killian scoffed softly, but he settled a little further into the couch cushions, glaring at his ankle. “It’s only a two and a half.”

Emma relaxed, leaning into his side. The explosion and its aftermath had been a ten on the scale of Killian-you-have-an-excellent-pain-tolerance-but-sometimes-it-will-fail. The average hangnail made a solid one, and the time he broke his arm while under the influence had warranted a happily-screeched six. A two and a half wasn’t even close to bad by his standards, and he was probably right when he said he didn’t need a doctor.

“What happened, anyway? You’re normally better than this.”

Killian sighed and rested his cheek on her head. “We were having a wonderful discussion about the Christmas lights, my childhood traditions, and my intentions toward you when your mother asked a startling question that sent me to the ground.”

Emma tried to turn her head to see his expression, but Killian didn’t shift enough to allow the movement. They sat in silence for a moment, Emma picturing Killian’s face when Mary Margaret asked _the question_ , whatever it was, that made him fall off a ladder. Or the roof. She wasn’t quite sure. She waited for him to say whatever the question was, but he remained silent. “Fine, I give up. What did Mom ask?”

Killian laughed and took her hand, moving his head just far enough that he could kiss her knuckles. Emma took the opportunity to move, facing him to get the full benefit of Killian’s story, which naturally included his face. “She offered her _ring_ , if you must know.” Emma blinked. Killian laughed again. “Yes, my love. Both of your parents approve of me. Of course, I knew it would happen since I am devilishly handsome and overwhelmingly charming, but—”

Emma stopped him with a finger pressed to his mouth. “If your next words repeat how much of an idiot I was for not bringing you home five years ago, I _will_ hit you. Regardless of damaged ankle.”

“The thought hadn’t crossed my mind,” Killian grinned. They sat there and smiled at each other for a minute. They were married; it was allowed. “If the ankle turns out worse than I imagine, how many death threats do you think Regina will send me?”

Emma rolled her eyes and stood to check on the state of the frozen peas. “ _So_ many. I probably won’t be able to save you.”

“Well, it’s been a nice run,” Killian sighed, wincing as Emma poked at the purple swelling around his ankle. He’d be able to walk on it perfectly fine in a few days, she guessed. She rewrapped it and leaned down to kiss him.

“I’ll avenge you,” she whispered when she pulled away.

Killian smiled. “I appreciate that, Mrs. Jones.”

\--

Emma finished wrapping the last present and sighed. “They look fine, love,” Killian called from the bed.

She stood up and stretched, then leaned back down to gather up the gifts to take them downstairs. “But they don’t look as good as my mom’s, and you know it.”

She heard Killian searching for a diplomatic response as she skipped down the stairs to put the presents under the tree. That had been the after-dinner exercise—her dad and Henry went to get the tree, she and her mom moved the furniture around to make room for it, and Killian had limped around to try to help. Mary Margaret Nolan and her appreciation for her daughter’s boyfriend insisted that he and his twisted ankle stay comfy on the couch.

Emma was still reeling from the fact that Killian had been given _maternal_ permission to propose. It’s not like he really needed it—the wedding rings secure in her purse proved otherwise—but it was still pretty awesome. Her dad’s unspoken permission a few days ago had been something, but her mom was a much harder nut to crack.

“I thought you’d be asleep already, Emma.” David’s voice broke out of the shadows and she started, mentally cursing herself for paying more attention to not letting Henry’s box fall instead of her surroundings. How was it that just a few days in Storybrooke, a town that was clearly hiding something, were enough to lower her defenses so much?

Emma finally saw her dad, sitting on the couch before the tree. “I wanted to go ahead and get everything wrapped and under the tree. You know, get something done before—Mom.” Her dad’s smirk gave it away before she even saw the giant pile under the tree. She sighed and started setting everything up, scattering her and Killian’s offerings in with the rest. “How does she do that?”

“I don’t question your mother, Emma,” David said, deadpan. “She’s too magical for that.” Emma leaned over and hugged him, ready to bid a goodnight and head upstairs for strategy. Before she could step away, David grabbed her hand. She glanced back down, just barely preventing herself from snatching her hand away. He met her eyes, searching as only he could. “Are you happy, Emma?”

“Mom’s happily ever after project for me can probably close down shop,” she answered. “Why?”

Her dad grinned, releasing her hand. “Just making sure. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, since we adopted you. That you’d be happy again.”

Somehow that made tears come to her eyes. She leaned down and hugged him again. “I am happy, Dad. So happy.” David kissed her forehead and she stepped away.

“I’m glad. Now go to bed,” he whispered. Emma nodded and took the remaining steps to the stairs, walking up slowly and glancing back down at her dad. He was still staring at the tree, but Emma thought he was smiling.

She stepped into her old bedroom with a similar smile. Killian glanced up when the door closed behind her. He grinned when he saw her. “What’s the smile for?”

“My dad’s pretty cool. All happy I’m happy and stuff.” Emma stepped over to his side of the bed and Killian tilted his chin up to meet her kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too, darling.”

They smiled for another few moments until Emma thought about the clock. “It’s 9 PM,” she said, leaning over her suitcase. She hadn’t bothered to unpack it, even though her mom had emptied out the drawers for them, which really made it look like she’d hoped Emma would change her mind about New York and move back in. Which wasn’t going to happen.

“What’s particularly significant about the time except for indicating the time for sleeping?” Killian asked, stretching and sitting up straighter.

Emma pulled out her grey leggings, loose black shirt, and tighter black undershirt and waved them in Killian’s direction. She closed the bathroom door behind her and changed, wondering how she was going to find Ashley unless the other woman showed up first. Since Ashley supposedly didn’t even live in Storybrooke anymore, Emma didn’t even have an address to go off of. It probably wasn’t even necessary for her to go out tonight, but she wanted to do some scouting and remember the town when it was veiled in shadows.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, ponytail secured and gun tucked into her waistband, Killian was glaring. She leaned back a little, not quite expecting the level of vitriol normally kept for an incompetent rookie who hadn’t learned how to use the safety on a gun. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m looking for Ashley. We need to figure out what’s going on here, Killian, and—”

He interrupted, as expected. Emma mentally slammed her forehead onto a table. “You’re going without me?”

“You may not have noticed, but you can’t fit your foot inside your boots right now! How are you going to do anything useful?”

Killian winced, and Emma sighed. She’d gone too far. She opened her mouth to apologize but Killian spoke first. “I may not be able to go now, or be useful or anything like that, but I don’t want you going alone.”

She finished tying her best shoes. It wouldn’t take much, just a few more steps, and she could be out of the door. She was fully prepared to table the argument for much later, or never again. “I can do it—”

“Of course you can do it alone! I don’t doubt that! I also don’t doubt that without me with you, you’ll get yourself very badly hurt! Do you remember even a _little_ bit of our first mission in Shanghai?”

Emma did. She had wandered away from Killian and gotten shot. The blood loss had been impressive, and they’d rapidly abandoned their mission. She was also not amused by the comparison. “It’s just a run around Storybrooke, Killian! The worst I expect to see is a cat fight, and if anyone sees me, I’ll just be the weird girl who left home more than a decade ago in favor of the big city.” She took another step toward the door.

“I don’t want you going alone,” Killian said, pressing his fingers into his temples. “We work best _together_ , Swan. Or have you forgotten that we’re partners as well as husband and wife?”

Just as Emma realized that their voices had risen beyond what would be considered normal for a nighttime conversation, a door closed. She glared at Killian, who glared right back, and silently opened the door. The do-not-disturb sign that hung on Henry’s doorknob swung gently. She closed the door again and took a deep breath before turning back to Killian.

She pitched her voice far lower. “Henry probably heard most of that last declaration, just so you know. You get to work on the explanation, since you started it. I’m going out to look for Ashley, since there’s a possibility that she’s working for someone who tried to blow you up. Thankfully, you’re incapable of following me.”

With that, she stepped over to the window. She’d escaped out of these windows a thousand times in her less-than-squeaky-clean high school years, and her consequent career hadn’t discouraged such behaviors.

“Emma…” Killian said, almost under his breath. He moved to the edge of the bed, abandoning the latest ice pack. “At least promise me you’ll be careful, darling.”

Before Emma could step to the window, Killian leaned forward and pulled her to him. She met him midway with a furious sort of kiss, still too unrelenting for any sort of intimacy. It was Killian’s admonishment and Emma’s admission that it was probably not the best plan. But she wouldn't wait. She couldn't.

Emma pulled away as quickly as they'd clung to each other. Killian sighed, running a hand through his hair. She took the few steps to the window and swung a leg out, hunting for the brick she used as a foothold. “It’s been almost seven years, Killian. Do you really still need to tell me to be careful?”

By the time Killian replied, she was standing on the grass below her window. “Always.” Her window clicked as he closed it.

Regret and adrenaline coursed through her as she jogged to the street. But Emma couldn’t stop to wish that she had waited until Killian understood that she couldn’t stay. She had a woman to find.


End file.
